


Trepliare - 2009

by Arizonacolleen



Series: Sophie Hollander Guinevere Series [10]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-04-04 20:33:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14028201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arizonacolleen/pseuds/Arizonacolleen
Summary: Sophie runs into some unexpected complications while trying to get back for her anniversary.Luckily, Harry always knows the way home.Check out Sophie's new Tumblr - full of bits and bobs and new info about London and the 90s.You can check us out here: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sophiehollanderandharryhart





	1. The Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a day, like any other.

“You don’t know me that well, Galahad,” Sophie said, stripping the coating from a pair of wires, “but this isn’t my cup of tea.”  
Harry looked up in the control room, a queer smile on his face. “We are alone Guinevere,” he corrected, “no one is recording this exchange.”  
Sophie paused momentarily, holding the wires as she lay underneath the explosive. “Oh…” she said, twisting the wires together and watching the digital counter scramble and fail. She stuck the file in her mouth as she shorted the charge relay, working with her hands in the dark as Harry listened through her glasses.  
“Since we’re alone,” Harry whispered seductively, “what are you wearing?” 

“My jumpsuit,” Sophie replied simply, cracking the casing to retrieve the shock core and dismantle the bomb. She hummed in subtle satisfaction into the com as she held it.  
“Sophie Hart,” Harry cooed, “superspy.”  
Sophie smiled, carefully tucking the delicate core into the foam molding of the metal case and screwing it down tightly. Once secured, she released a sigh of relief as she gathered her tools and secured them into her jumpsuit. She left the remnants as she walked to the edge of the roof and glimpsed over the edge for any witnesses. “Do you ever look around at these places and think to yourself, ‘maybe I leave the bomb, just this once’?”  
“Canary!” Harry chided as Sophie smiled wickedly, grasping her rope and hopping over the edge, rappelling down the side of the resort in the dark. 

Sophie dropped to the ground behind the resort, stripping her jumpsuit and exposing her black and white floral print frock before she rolled her jumpsuit around the bomb case. Reaching into the darkness, she produced a black bag, unzipping it and retrieving her heels and clutch before she crammed her jumpsuit into it and zipped it closed. “I smell like Brunox,” Sophie groused aloud, spraying her hair and tossing it upside down as she whipped her hair to and fro to set it. “I bet you smell simply gorgeous,” she heard Harry whisper into her ear through her glasses. She smiled, lifting the edge of her dress as she grabbed her shoes. “This place is loathsome,” she remarked, “of course the Yanks adore it. It’s what people with no class think makes class.” She dropped the black bag into seclusion around the landscaping in the back parking lot. “The package has been delivered,” Sophie yawned, walking away from it with her shoes still in her hand.

She paced through the grass, letting the moisture on the grass wash the bottom of her feet before she stepped into her heels. “It does make me wonder,” Sophie muttered, clipping her earring into place as she stepped into her heel, “that explosive you dismantled in Paris? I wonder if they are connected.” Harry considered this as Merlin returned with their coffee but said nothing as he sat down at the desk. “Package confirmed,” Merlin responded, tapping into the communication with his glasses. Through the silence, both Harry and Sophie knew that the moment of familiarity was indeed over. “This bomb is at a resort in the America,” Harry reasoned, “and you chased it from Belgium. That would have to be quite a nefarious developer.” Sophie continued past the palm trees on her way to the grand ballroom. “Aren’t they all,” she replied, her contempt for the subject obvious, “at least I have a good cover - I’m pretty and can sound like a native.” 

“Hey…” Sophie said, her American accent carried on an airy lilt, “I am so lost. Could you tell me where the ballroom is?” Harry and Merlin both glanced at one another as they listened to her converse with the hotel staff, amused at her accent. “Guinevere, my goodness…” Harry mockishly remarked.  
“Not a word,” Sophie fired back, her tone stern though her accent light, “don’t you DARE find this accent attractive.” She entered the ballroom, making her way to the her seat at the back row surrounding the stage. “I suppose I should meet the moron,” Sophie reasoned, “though it is difficult to imagine him being responsible for a plot to control global politics. He’s a tool if anything.” There was silence as she looked over the program, her view broadcasting back to Merlin and Harry back at HQ. “He can’t be pulling the strings if he’s here. He couldn’t be that simple.”

“Still,” Sophie said as the models walked past on the large central runway, “I follow this lead on a bank of flats in Brussels, which turns out to be an expensive front for foreign entities to...what, launder money?” Sophie paused, watching the cartoonish gestures of the owner as she sighed. Her eyes subtly stalking his movement among the other men in the group, none of which seemed interested in the Alberto designs or the United Way. “Any chance of engagement?” Merlin asked over the com, “Perhaps a carnal directive would make him more amiable.” Merlin glanced up momentarily to Harry, who stood looking up at the video feed but showed no acknowledgement. “Negative,” Sophie replied as she waved for a drink, “he’s with someone.” She zoomed in, showing the curvaceous blonde with his arm wrapped around her as they chatted in the larger group. “And he’s married. I believe that angle is fruitless, thank Heavens.”

“My contacts in Azerbaijan tell me there’s another building in the works,” Sophie continued low in her American accent, “it’s a few years off but the bribes are there. So: he puts up the front, they put up the land,” Sophie reasoned softly as she watched, “who puts up all the money?”  
“And why is someone trying to bomb them after?” Harry pondered. The three agents considered these points as Merlin received confirmation of the drop collection. “The package has been recovered. Well done, Guinevere.” Merlin announced, “Mission accomplished.”  
Sophie left the fashion show, walking to the bar as Merlin delivered the confirmation. She ordered a cosmopolitan and shooed away a would be suitor as she looked around the event. “I’m going to hang about,” she mumbled, “but you needn’t remain. I just have a feeling...like I’m missing something. Maybe if I remain I’ll figure it out. I’ll report once I move on.”

“Very good,” Merlin concluded, closing the video and pushing away from the desk. He tapped off his glasses as he rose to his feet, looking to invite Harry along for a drink when he noted Harry’s expression. Realizing him to still be connected to Sophie’s feed, he gave a quiet nod and exited the room in search of his own tonic. Harry simply stood in the minimal light of the desk lamp, his focus on being as much with Sophie as possible. “What does a man like that stand to gain from all this?” Sophie whispered, holding her glass to her lips to obscure them as she mused. She took a healthy sip as Harry listened. “Powerful allies?” He offered aloud, following her feed as she watched the fashion show end and the group announce the funds raised for charity. “That voice…” Harry began flirtatiously. Sophie groaned softly, pointing to her empty glass as the bartender nodded. “Do not fetishize this accent,” she warned, “I will not be bringing it home.”

“I was only going to say that it isn’t my Sophie,” Harry clarified. Sophie smiled meekly as her drink arrived. Neither of them had noticed the agent watching her from the crowd as Sophie looked back at the stage. “He’s so...orange,” Sophie spat with confused disdain, “it’s hard to imagine him being responsible for anything important.” Harry smiled as Sophie finished her drink in contemplation. “You are likely correct,” Harry assured her, “he’s a pawn in all of this. The real question here is: whose pawn?” Sophie said nothing, setting her drink down as a second wave began to approach the bar. “Of course, there is a far more important question before us,” Harry proposed. Sophie moved away from the bar to clear the space and mingled within the crowd. “Will you be home for the tenth?” he asked. Sophie blushed, a slight chuckle in her sigh as she responded in her faux accent, “That’s the plan.”

“No,” Harry dismissed, “Guinevere, no. Speak to me.” Harry’s voice took on a passionate intensity as he requested, “Like lavender, clotted cream and the perfect English lady I know you to be. Don’t sound like anyone other than my Sophie.” The longing in Harry’s tone struck Sophie, stirring her as she thought of the months they have been apart. “Blimey,” Sophie replied, her accent thick and resonant in it’s return. Her voice washed over Harry, who blissfully replied, “Say the most British thing you can think of Canary. For me.” Sophie thought about it momentarily before replying, “If only…”  
As her round tone hugged the ‘w’ sound in that second syllable, Harry sighed happily.  
“I almost said, ‘I’m sorry',” she admitted.  
“That is also quite British,” Harry agreed, “Promise me you’ll be home for our anniversary.”

“Alright,” Sophie agreed, “I promise. I will be home for our anniversary.”  
“Very good,” Harry replied happily.  
“I’m going to get out of here, and try not to be carried away by one of the colossal insects that await me beyond these doors,” Sophie quipped, “Good night, Galahad.”  
“Good night Guinevere,” Harry said sweetly, ending the call and removing his glasses. He held them in his palm for a few moments in the low light of the room before returning them to his pocket and leaving the room to meet Merlin for a drink in the late hour. Sophie followed the crowd, making their way out of the ballroom and spilling into the large reception area which surround the pool. She didn’t see the man who had lingered behind her or the two men he signaled to as she exited the ballroom, who subtly moved to either side of her within the crowd. 

Once outside, Sophie intended to continue across the courtyard and beyond the pool to her room when she felt a sting at the base of her neck. Instinctively slapping at the back of her neck, she paused momentarily to rub the spot when she began to feel very warm. Sophie looked behind her, hoping to identify any possible assailant when her vision began to blur. She tapped her glasses as the two hotel attendants came to her aid. “Right this way, madam,” one announced, “let’s get you a glass of water.” They grasped her forearms to aid her but Sophie felt a rush of panic as she was marched away from the public and into a corridor. As soon as she was out of sight, she began to struggle against the men only to find herself losing her grip on consciousness. “Who are you?” she demanded, “What do you want?” The men said nothing, lifting her together and carrying her down the corridor as she struggled. Her glasses fell to the ground and were crushed as they carried her to a darkened room, the door closing behind them. 

Then, there was only silence.


	2. Everyone Wants Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Say a prayer for Leighanne Fuller. 
> 
>  
> 
> The song is Buck's Fizz, "Making Your Mind Up" - England's selection for Eurovision, 1981.   
> Our gal does love Eurovision.

It was dark when Sophie stirred, her head swimming a bit as she groaned softly and attempted to lift her wrists. As she struggled against the tape which held her to the metal chair, a light switched on over a desk directly in front of her. Sophie stopped writhing and looked at the tall, thin man dressed in black and sitting behind the desk looking back at her. He was not one of the men that had carried her away from the crowd, and she realized that she had no idea if they remained or if she were someplace new. The room seemed enormous, and smelled of dust and mildew. Sophie’s eyes scanned the interior as she tried to peer into the darkness for any clue as to who grabbed her or where she might be. Sophie cursed herself for losing her glasses - _Dammit Soph, how could you let this happen?_ Her pale eyes drifted back to the man behind the desk as she drew a slow calming breath and considered what to do now. 

“Listen,” Sophie said, her American accent waivering with a nervous inflection, “I don’t know what’s going on, but my boss is gonna be looking for me. I’m supposed to flying home in the morning.” Sophie blinked slowly, adding a slight tremble to sell her confused worry but the man seemed unfazed by her plea. “What is your name?” he asked, his accent thick in his clipped inquiry. Though still a bit hazy, Sophie was certain that the voice was more Russian than Portuguese but she wished he had given her more with which to base her assessment. “My name is Leighanne Fuller?” she answered, “From Springfield? I was here to see the fashions for my boss.” Sophie looked around, blank-faced and afraid as she asked, “What did I do wrong?”  
“What is your name?” he repeated, his tone more aggressive. He was speaking slower, each word ringing in the vacant space. _Shit_ , Sophie thought, trying to form a new approach.

“I don’t understand,” Sophie tried again, her voice soft and her expression confused. She looked at him, pleading with her soft gaze as his stony expression returned. “Who do you work for?” he continued, his tone unchanged. Without warning, all the lights in the room switched on, momentarily blinding Sophie. Sophie noticed that not only had her jewelry and shoes been removed, but she was no longer wearing the dress from the party. She was now dressed in a simple slip which stopped at the knee and was made of untreated cotton twill. Sophie began to wonder how long she had been in that room when she heard footsteps, but resisted the urge to look. “Who,” he repeated, “do you work for?” Sophie could now feel the other party behind her, and tensed her wrists against the tape that held them to the arms of the chair. “Don Bowman,” Sophie said cautiously, “he acquisitions manager. I can give you the number to our offices…”

Sophie was cut off as the blow connected to the side of her face, crumpling her in the chair. She remained there for several minutes, her face pressed against her arm as she took a few deep breaths to consider where to go from here. She tried to blink, looking back and forth slowly. “I think my socket might be broken,” she said, emitting a mix of groan and sigh in her laboured breath. She slowly lifted her head, this time looking up at the figure who struck her. Remembering that the first few days are usually about breaking you, Sophie tried to resign herself to take whatever comes with steely resolve and to divulge nothing. _Be a Kingsman_ , she thought to herself, _above all things._ Sophie began to weep openly, looking back at the man behind the desk. “I don’t understand,” she sobbed, “Please let me go. I don’t know what you want, but I don’t know anything.” The second man responded by hitting her again, spilling blood from her nose and down onto her slip. 

“You’re going to tell us what we want to know,” the man behind the desk said, his accent echoing in the room, “and if this persuasion doesn’t work we will simply move on to other, more direct methods. We will break you. You will tell us everything you know.” Sophie sniffed loudly, drawing back the blood she had been pooling in her mouth and spat it in front of her. It stained the cement floor in front of her but she stared ahead, letting the drying blood on her face send a silent message. Sophie knew the moments for naivety had passed, so she said nothing, letting her flinty visage remain. “You can tell us, now, what you were doing at the fundraiser and what your interest is in the organization,” he continued, “or we will escalate our persuasion. We can still barter you with broken bones and without other things. Until you have no value.” The second man raised his arm to strike her again, only to be ceased by his associate. “Let’s not let it come to that.”

Sophie cleared her throat, spitting out another mouthful of bloody saliva and crossing her legs. Her eye had swollen shut, but the other remained fixed in an icy and emotionless leer as she cleared her throat a second time to clear the rasp that developed. “Все хотят чего-то,” she said back to him, watching his shoulders lift as he listened. A sly smile found her face, signalling that she had clocked him more quickly than he could her. He could not know that she was prepared to die before she told them anything, but he realized now she was a keen adversary. A professional. “You speak Russian?” he asked, a sort of delighted surprise in his voice as he asked. Sophie blinked her single good eye slowly, answering nonchalantly, “Da.” He waved to the other man, who turned and left them alone in the chamber once again. As the large door closed, echoing into the the room, Sophie looked at her taped wrists and sighed aloud. She hoped her boredom were clear, even through the throbbing pain in her head.

For a few moments they both sat in silence, and Sophie wondered what this man did when he wasn’t in this room attempting to break people like her. _Did he have children?_ She pondered, _Perhaps he played an instrument?_ She tried to think of anything other than the very real chance she would never see her husband again. She wondered if he even knew she was missing from her post at this point, and cursed herself again for allowing this to happen. Curiouser still was the presence of Russian influence in the first place; but before she could commit her focus to that point it was diverted when a nurse entered the room, pushing a metal cart. “Perhaps we take a different approach,” the interrogator suggested as he stood and rounded the desk. He stepped up to the chair and removed his switchblade, leaning down to cut through the tape along her wrist. “Remain a lady…” he advised, “I would hate to kill you this quickly. Understand?” 

Sophie looked up, nodding her comprehension as he cut both hands free and she gratefully turned her sore wrists. The nurse turned her wrist, prepping her vein for a shot as Sophie stared ahead in performed disinterest. She held her breath, determined not to flinch as the needle went in, only to fade as the serum worked through her bloodstream. She closed her eyes, exhaling and drooping against the tape binding her chest to the back of the chair. The interrogator walked back to the desk, standing in front of it and watching as Sophie tried to maintain her composure against the potent drugs. “Now,” he began, “tell me your name.” Sophie swallowed, lifting her head as it tilted to the side and gazed up at him. “Canary…” she slurred, her accent returned as she spoke slowly, “because of the yellow. Do you have canaries in Russia? I don’t rightly know.”  
The interrogator was taken aback at her change in voice. “So you’re British,” he acknowledged. 

“It would appear so,” Sophie replied, her eyes wide in discovery. Though it told his nothing, this admission felt like a victory and a defeat - depending on who you asked. “There are Russian Canaries,” he replied, showing her a moment of humanity that Sophie would have dismissed as a tactic had she been clear-headed. “If you tell us what you know I might be able to contact MI-5 and you might be able to return home,” he offered, “Something to consider. If you cooperate.”  
Sophie drew a deep breath, trying to focus on her composure as her head leaned back until she was staring up at the ceiling. “Muddling,” Sophie slurred slightly, speaking aloud but aimless, “you have to muddle it. That’s the secret. After the lemons and the sugar, you really give it a proper go.” Sophie lifted her head, looking at him with no emotion as she continued, “Then you add the Pimm’s. Simple really.” Sophie licked her lips, looking forward but focusing on nothing. 

Sophie’s eyes shined as she slowly cut them back to him and she steadied her focus, taking in his frustration and savouring it’s turn to anger. “You have...nothing to threaten me with,” she said calmly, “you may as well kill me because I am never going to give you what you want.” Her eyes fluttered but she kept her focus for as long as possible to drive her point. The Russian smiled back at her, undaunted by her declaration. “We will kill you, Leighanne Fuller of Springfield…” he smiled, “someplace. And we will take a very long time to do it.” He walked around the desk and sat back down, “Nothing to threaten you with? We have everything.” He pressed a button on the desk before looking back at her, “Absolutely everything.” The door opened and two large men appeared, standing on either side of Sophie’s chair. “Take Miss Fuller to her cell,” he instructed, “make sure she is comfortable.” He turned back to his notes as she was removed from the chair and carried away. He did not look back at her.

 

Harry sat at the table looking around at the other agents, both hologram and present, as each agent reported the current status of their mission. It was midday on Friday and Harry was bored. He was merely feigning interest when Merlin entered the the room, clipboard in hand, and gave him a troubling look as he approached the table. “Merlin,” Arthur called, “I understand you have intel to report.” Merlin adjusted his glass, using his clipboard to broadcast onto the large screen over the fireplace. “Yes. Gentleman,” he began, “after our retrieval team collected the explosives in Florida, we tried to reach Agent Guinevere to confirm mission status but was unable to contact her. Her com signal ceased broadcast late Wednesday.” Merlin’s gaze swept past Harry as Arthur took in the information. “Do we have any evidence of deep cover?” Arthur asked flatly. Merlin waited a beat. “No,” he admitted, “evidence suggests Guinevere has been compromised.”

Harry sat up at the news, adjusting his glasses to cover his shift as he watched Merlin’s presentation. Arthur considered the information and then turned to the table, “Galahad, follow up with Merlin on this. An emergency extraction might prove necessary once we ascertain Guinevere’s whereabouts.” Harry nodded his acknowledgement, closing his portfolio and leaving immediately as the meeting ended and making his way down the corridor to Merlin’s offices. It was pure luck that Arthur handed him this assignment, and Harry tried to console himself that there was no use in dread. He had seen his wife in action and was confident that wherever she was - she could handle the situation as well as he would. That did not cede the feeling in the pit of his stomach as he paced silently outside Merlin’s office. “Galahad,” Merlin said, passing him and opening the door to his office and inviting him inside. 

Once Merlin closed the door, he turned back to Harry and gave him an uncertain nod. “Do you know anything yet?” Harry asked softly. He unfastened the button on his coat, resting his loose fists on his hips. Merlin watched as Harry seemed to contemplate pacing only to stop himself and look around, anxious. “We found her glasses, Galahad,” Merlin replied cautiously, “They were crushed just outside the resort, along with one of her shoes. All her luggage had been abandoned and was still in her suite.” Harry’s eye drifted down to the floor as he listened to Merlin’s information. “Is she in any way traceable?” Harry asked soberly. Merlin looked back at him, unsure of his response when Edwin interrupted them both, walking in from the side office with a large file in his hand. “Matter of fact, yes,” Edwin interjected happily, “Guinevere was a willing volunteer in a program some years ago that might be just the thing we’re looking for.” Edwin set the file onto Merlin’s desk and opened it, “Let’s just hope she can activate it, and that it still works.” 

 

The noise had rattled the walls of her cell all night, or at least what Sophie imagined must’ve been all night. She lay on the cement floor, her arms folded around her face and her cheek pressed to the cool of the cement. Above her, heat lamps flooded the small room in brilliant light to ensure no peaceful rest could be achieved while contained therein. The sounds of glass breaking and metal continued unabated as Sophie lay there trying to meditate for however long she had until they returned to her. She thought of Harry, and her friends, before her mind wandered to Reverend Hislop. She wondered what he would think of her now, in this place, and the work she did if he really knew what it entailed. How many people had she killed? How many could she argue she might have saved? Does such arithmetic actually exist, and would it matter when she met the Lord? Had she really been a good person after all? 

Sophie thought she might cry, but tears did not come to her and she was grateful. She did not want to appear emotional when they returned. Sophie had been tortured, briefly, before and believed cool indifference was the best approach. Some agents were openly hostile in these situations, but Sophie always believed that maintaining your own manner would serve you in trying moments. A dry, desperate laugh escaped her as she rolled onto her back and draped an arm across her swollen eyes. “You gotta turn it on and then you gotta put it out...you gotta be sure that it's something everybody's gonna talk about,” she sang softly to herself, beneath the booming sounds of the abusive din. “Before you decide that the times arrived,” she murmured aloud, “for making your mind up." _For making your mind up_


	3. The Trigger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have to give up any hope of regaining your former life. That life is gone.  
> You are stronger and can endure more than you know, but there is only one way to find that out.
> 
> Also, the song referenced is "S.O.S." by ABBA

The interrogator set a group of chess pieces onto a board on his desk. Sophie glanced over them but lost her train of thought when he produced a large glass of ice and slowly filled it with water. Sophie’s swallowed hard, staring at the glass as her headache throbbed and she tried to think of anything other than her thirst. “How many pieces are on the board?” he asked her, as two large men secured her tired limbs into leather straps and reclined her onto the metal stretcher. Sophie studied the board for a moment, “Four,” she answered honestly. The interrogator smirked, lifted the glass and took a healthy sip in front of her. Replacing the glass with an audible tap, he turned back to her and said, “No. There are six pieces on the board.” Sophie said nothing, watching the condensation slowing form on the glass. She dreamed of breaking the straps, killing them all, only to stand over them and drink that glass of water. 

“Miss Fuller,” he called, grabbed her attention, “How many pieces are on the board?” Sophie looked at the four pieces resting on the board and looked back at him. “You want me to tell you there are more pieces on the board than are really there,” she explained calmly, “because when I tell you what you want to hear I might be a little bit closer to telling you who I am and what I know about you. You want me to want that water so badly that I give in to you, but that I cannot do Dimitri.” Sophie raised an eyebrow as the large men pushed her head back and strapped it down against the stretcher.   
“My name is not Dimitri,” the interrogator said with a smirk.  
“Now we both have an alias,” Sophie countered, “So much friendlier with a name, don’t you find? Intimate, even.” 

Dimitri took another drink from the cold, perspiring glass before claiming a bundle of steel wool from a tray beside the stretcher. Looking down at Sophie, he dropped the bundle into the glass to moisten it in the ice at the bottom of the glass. “Parrilla is a form of torture from South America…” he began.  
“I know what it is.” Sophie interjected, looking up at the ceiling to steady her breathing, “My word, I had no idea Russian methods could prove so craven.”   
Dimitri handed the steel wool to the first large man beside Sophie, who roughly lifted her bloodied gown and inserted the steel wool into her. Sophie closed her eyes, slowly releasing her breath in an attempt to stop her frightened tremble from spreading.   
“How many pieces are on the board, Miss Fuller?” he asked again.  
Sophie opened her one good eye, looked back at him and answered, “Four.”

Dimitri gave a slight nod and suddenly the worst pain Sophie had ever felt surged through her. Her chest lifted and her head pulled against the restraint and as her limbs contorted she cried out in anguish. Her screams filled the room as she made no effort to hide her suffering, and continued until she fainted briefly and the current ceased. Sophie’s body collapsed against the stretcher, spasming and out of breath. Sophie lifted her gaze, stunned to see Harry standing behind her aggressors. He was leaning against the wall in his sharp black leather trenchcoat, looking back at her with kind eyes. Sophie only caught a moment’s glance at him before the current began again and her vision went blurry with the intense pain flowing through her. Sophie tried to focus on anything to take her away from the moment, but was unable to concentrate on anything but the blinding agony she felt, and how it seemed to go forever. 

When it finally stopped, Sophie crumpled. She ached everywhere, and her limbs still seized sporadically as she thought only of breathing. “This is the low setting,” Dimitri explained, “it can be increased at any point.” Sophie opened her eyes, but failed to see Harry this time as she looked back and gasped, coughing as her raspy throat fought the stinging dryness. Dimitri refilled the glass, inexplicably offering to her lips. As he held it there, he looked at her and paused. “Thank you,” Sophie choked out. Dimitri raised his eyebrow, pulling the glass back slightly until she added, “...Sir.” He then tilted it back, allowing Sophie to painfully sip down most of it as the rest spilled around her mouth and soaked her slip. Sophie fell back against the cot, out of breath and her stroked her hair gently. “Think about the chess pieces,” he advised, “This can end whenever you wish or last the rest of your life.”

The large men unstrapped her limbs, lifting her from the stretching and carrying her out of the room and back to her cell. Her feet dragged across the cement floor but she made no effort to lift them. The entered the cell, and again Sophie saw Harry as they passed him and dropped Sophie on the cement floor. She curled up tightly, lying on her side and simply breathing as she stared at immaculate shoes she knew were not real. She knew Harry wasn’t really there, and yet the thought of him in that moment filled her with hope. She was suddenly embarrassed of her dirty, bloody slip and her unkempt hair as she imagined him looking down over her. “You must understand,” she whispered, “I hadn’t had any water in two days. I won’t tell him anything, I promise you.” Sophie felt faint as she lifted her head to look up, “Please understand. I was just so terribly thirsty my love. I couldn’t think of anything else.”

Harry walked around her body, kneeling beside her as she trembled on the floor. “Shh…” Harry said gently, “they might be listening Canary.” Sophie considered the likelihood of that, rolling onto her back and trying to stretch to calm her quivering muscles. Just then, the oppressive heat lamps shut down and the room went dark apart from a small lamp over the door. Sophie sighed gratefully at the cooling darkness, which might mean sleep but definitely meant an easing on the dehydration that was plaguing her. Sophie knew that was the greatest threat to her at the present, but found it hard to think beyond the comfort that the cooling darkness offered her as she relaxed against the floor. Her eyes fluttered as her mind drifted in the silence, and she found that even if she strained to listen, she heard nothing and in that moment she was strangely happy. “I’m terrified,” Sophie confessed, “that I’m not going to keep my promise.”

“You know, this is very likely a cost measure,” Harry quipped, “budget cuts. They won Eurovision last year, and putting on this year’s show certainly wiped out the ‘electricity for brutalizing secret agents’ kitty.”   
“Yes, and they keep putting that electric into my vagina,” Sophie laughed desperately.   
“Canary!” Harry chided.   
God, how Sophie longed to hear his loving reprimand again. She would have done anything to actually touch him and feel his arm around her.   
“You sound like me,” Sophie admitted into the darkness.  
“I am you,” Harry answered, “I am in your heart Canary. I am always with you.”   
The words brought a tear to her eyes, and she tried to quell the lump in her throat as she thought of the last time they spoke. She prayed for his safety, afraid she would never see him again. 

“Eurovision…” Sophie muttered, “missed it again.” Sophie felt faint, and wondered if her strange fixation came from mild delirium or instead a need to find something cheery with which to hold onto. “So when you're near me, darling can't you hear me,” she whispered slowly to herself, “S. O. S.” She rested her wrist on her waist, comforted by hearing her own voice. Her imagined Harry lay on the ground, his head beside hers as she looked up at the darkened lamps. “When you're gone, how can I even try to go on?” she whimpered, “Though I try how can I carry on?” Her voice trailed away and she closed her eyes, hoping for the ache that consumed her to pass away and for sleep to come to her. Sleep seemed so inviting, so perfect but as her body relaxed she immediately flinched back into focus. “They are killing me in here,” she whispered, “I promised to return to you and I don’t think I can keep my promise. I’m so sorry, my love.”

“You are keeping your word,” Harry soothed in the darkness. Sophie rolled to her side to face him, imagining his features as much as she could. “Is...Kingsman...worth...dying for?” Harry asked slowly, and as Sophie closed her eyes she felt Harry’s forehead press to hers, “You are keeping your word, my dearest one. Everyone will know that.” Sophie sighed deeply, relieved by his words as she pleaded, “How do I get out of here? Go home? Help me figure it out, please.” Harry pulled back, lifting his head as if having an epiphany. “Canary,” he called, waiting for her to open her good eye to focus on him. He looked at her hopefully and said simply, “Smile.” She looked at him, puzzled as he smiled at her and as his eyes lit up she realized what he meant. “Oh my God…” she whispered, “thank you. Thank you my dearest.” Sophie strained, sitting up to contemplate her realization. _How could I have forgotten Edwin’s tracker?_

She looked over at Harry and smiled, hopeful in a way she hadn’t been since the capture. “Do you know what you must do?” he asked. Sophie nodded, trying to calm her trembling. “Do not let them suspect anything,” he advised as Sophie lay back down, resting her face in her folded arms, “do it in here if you have to - if you cannot get them to. Then they can find you.” Sophie nodded, her head still nestled in her arms. “Just one more thing, Canary,” he said seriously. Sophie opened her eye, fighting her exhaustion to listen as he concluded, “You have to completely give up any hope of regaining your former life. Just let it all go, and get out of here.” Sophie nodded, sniffed, and slipped into weary sleep. She could see her possible path to freedom, she only needed to be willing to do what it took to send the message. Sophie thought of Hislop, then of Harry before her mind went blank and she drifted in dreamless slumber.

 

When they came to collect her, Sophie was prepared. She didn’t struggle or resist as they lifted her and dragged her body back down the hall and into the interrogation room. She was lifted and returned to the stretcher, tilted upward as she was strapped into place. The interrogator set a glass before her on his desk. “Good morning,” he offered, “I trust you slept well last night.”  
“I did,” Sophie admitted with a blush which clashed against her swollen and discolored face, “I dreamed I was making love to Colin Firth. Thank you for the accommodation.” She smiled meekly, he eyes fixed on the interrogator. She showed no interest in the glass of water had had placed into view. “Now Miss Fuller,” he began, “if you’ll tell me - how many chess pieces you see before you?” Sophie tensed the muscles in her stomach; knowing this was her best, perhaps only opportunity to make this work. She sighed audibly, rolling her eyes at him. 

“Who cares?” she asked directly, “Honestly? Who. Cares.” She smacked her lips, gauging his response to her dismissal, “I must say, I’m not at all impressed with your technique. I can’t help feeling that if our roles were reversed the situation would be very different indeed.” Sophie looked up with the smuggest expression she could conjure as he sneered slightly.   
“Are you suggesting that you would have broken me?” he asked directly.  
Sophie looked at his for a few silent moments before she replied, “I’m suggesting that if you were a spy of the same calibre as an interrogator, there wouldn’t be much point. I’d have likely bored of you and killed you by now. What is this, day four?” Sophie laughed sickly at him, knowing it would stir his anger. “With your car battery and your chess set, goodness gracious me!” Sophie propped her head back against the stretcher, laughing aloud at him spitefully.

“I think we have been very fair to you, Miss Fuller,” he countered, clearly annoyed by her response, “I suppose you would have done things differently. If you hadn’t been captured by us, that is.”   
This only made Sophie laugh harder at him, “You...you don’t even know my name!” she choked out, her laughter filling the room, “And you offer me water? I would have pulled your teeth out by now.” Sophie pulled from the very bottom of her reserves as she lifted her pale green eyes and gazed back at him in defiance. “Take me back to my cell, let me die there,” she demanded, “laughing at you. Unless you want to get off again with your little fetish box.” She shook her head, “It must be very thrilling…finally getting to make a woman scream.” His sneer gave way to a quiver, and Sophie prayed she had succeeded. 

“Poluchite mne komplekt dlya izvlecheniya,” he commanded, and the large guard left the room. He looked back at Sophie, “You speak Russian, so you know what what that means don’t you?” Sophie swallowed hard, lowered her eyes and said nothing. A triumphant smirk overcame the interrogator as he leaned into Sophie’s space, “Call it a collaborative effort, shall we?” Sophie trembled as the door opened and the guard returned, pushing a tray of tools with him. “Anything you care to tell me before I take you brilliant suggestion, Miss...whatever your name is?” he asked her. Sophie looked up to see Harry standing behind the interrogator, a warm supportive expression on his face. “Begin with my left side,” she asked, “if you’d be so kind. It will balance out the eye.” The guard strapped her head down before reaching for the mandible gag to hold her mouth open. “It’s my first time,” she admitted, “but I suppose it’s my own fault.”

Perhaps on a normal day, the interrogator might’ve taken that opportunity to barter for information; but Sophie had succeeded in angering him and he wanted to retaliate. “Drinking that water is going to be excruciating after this.” he remarked. Sophie swallowed as the gag was forced into her mouth and her jaw was pried open. Thankfully, he honored her request and as he gripped the first tooth with his forceps, Sophie’s eyes trailed to where Harry stood smiling his gentle encouragement. That’s all she saw until the blinding white light of pain overwhelmed her. She didn’t scream, and focused on the taste of the blood running down the back of her throat as the interrogator personally pulled four of her teeth. He stopped as she began gagging on her blood, and leaned her forward to let it run from her mouth and spill down her slip. “I see now that the kind approach was foolish, and that the more direct method is what you require,” he said.

He grabbed the icy water, pouring it over her exposed roots as she writhed in agony. She wept, struggling to swallow the desperately desired but brutally painful water as it was forced into her mouth. “This pain you feel is enough for today,” he said resolutely, “but tomorrow we will break you. So go back and really think about whether or not you wish to die tomorrow.” The interrogator said nothing further, turning and leaving the room. Sophie watched him walk down the corridor and disappear as she was unstrapped from the stretcher and lifted by her arms. She was unable to stop the blood from running from her mouth as she was pulled down the hall and dropped onto the concrete floor in her cell. She landed on her left side, crying out in misery as the men turned and left her there. Sophie shook as she pushed herself upright, sliding to the corner toilet and rolling the coarse paper roll to stuff into her mouth to stop the bleeding. 

She leaned against the wall, alone in the cell when the lights and booming sounds resumed as she switched out the blood soaked paper, dropping them into the bucket before replacing them as her tears streamed down her face. Her face swelled and the pain seemed ceaseless, but she didn’t see Harry at all. She was completely alone.


	4. Extraction

Harry slumbered in Sophie’s office chair, his legs crossed as they rested on her desk. He hadn’t left the office since the report of her disappearance nearly three days before. Merlin let him sleep, hoping to hide his slightly disheveled appearance from anyone outside the know at Kingsman. It was now Monday morning, and with their last communication late Wednesday night, Merlin was trying to keep his hope at the forefront of his dread though he knew they should have heard something by now. His worries were interrupted by Edwin, who burst into the office excitedly with his clipboard in hand. “The beacon!” he exclaimed, “it was triggered last night. They must’ve pulled it! It worked!” Edwin thrust the clipboard into Merlin’s hands, his prideful zeal unbecoming but none-the-less understood.  
“What does that mean?” Merlin asked hopefully.

“If these readings are accurate,” Edwin explained, “Then Guinevere is alive as of 9:38PM last night, and is located here - just outside of Russian occupied Ukraine.” Edwin pointed to the location on the map on the board. Merlin studied the map, a plan of extraction forming in his mind and Edwin rambled without his attention. “We can reach this location inside of four hours,” Merlin said. Edwin nodded, only to shake his head as head as he considered, “Actually, more like six hours,” Edwin corrected, “once we get an extraction team together. We will also need to arrange the gear and have it deployed to the airfield.” Merlin nodded his acknowledgement of Edwin’s points as he turned over the new information. “Arrange the gear and post the drop,” Merlin ordered, “I will assemble the agents for the extraction team. We assume she’s alive - no matter what.” Edwin nodded, his expression clouded at the last remark as they parted company. 

Merlin walked down the corridor to the dusty and oft-forgotten office of Grail Affairs, switching on the light as he entered to collect Harry. “Galahad,” he called sternly, his voice setting the tone as Harry shook and lowered his feet. “Any word?” he asked immediately, still half asleep as he stretched and dropped the coat he draped across his chest. “Guinevere’s molar transmitter was triggered,” Merlin said flatly, “We have a location.”   
Harry immediately sprang to his feet, smoothing his shirt and turning his collar down as the information registered. “Is the order posted? When do we deploy?” he asked, grabbing his coat and rounding the desk quickly to meet Merlin. Merlin raised a hand, stopping him as he met him by the door. “She’s in the Ukraine, Harry,” Merlin explained, “we are looking roughly six hours before execution.” Harry looked at him impatiently - his false start clear. 

“Go upstairs,” Merlin advised, “have a shower and wake up properly. I’ve called Lancelot in to assist with extraction. We will be ready within ninety minutes, and that is essential to a proper extraction.” Harry bristled at the information, eager to leave. His heart pounded in his chest, ready to tear down the building brick by brick until he reached his beloved. Merlin understood his hunger as much as he could, but understood the job was as much to protect Galahad from his ambition as to extract Guinevere without incident. “She is alive, Harry,” he offered, “and we will bring her home. Go put yourself together. You need to be ready if you want to collect her.” Harry looked at his friend, knowing he was right. “We leave in ninety minutes?” he asked hopefully. Merlin looked at his watch, “We leave in eighty-two minutes,” he answered confidently. He smiled, tapped his shoulder and slipped past him to prepare. Merlin watched him leave, relieved.

 

Within the still of the corridor between the cell and the interrogation room, there was nothing. Then screaming. Then nothing. Then the chilling, spirit-shaking screaming that rang out of Sophie as they increased the voltage in waves and she bucked in torment, her muscles seizing and her body twisting at the current flowing through her. Her screams were choked out as her voice gave way to the rasp of her dry, chapped throat and the blood that had left it raw and aching. After the second session, Sophie relieved herself - her urine streaming down her leg as the stared ahead, refusing to answering any question. She had resigned herself: either Kingsman were coming or they weren’t, but she was finished with this engagement. Harry had stopped appearing to her, and she was prepared to die. Sophie surrendered to the intense torture, consoling herself that in the end, she told them nothing. They had nothing. 

The guards grasped the medical scissors, snipping up the sides of her soaked slip and pulling it away from her now nude form. She looked frail, thin from dehydration and discolored from bruising, but she persisted. She stared out at the interrogator, seemingly freed from any worry of retaliation as she panted between each brutal round. She twitched randomly, smirked and responded, “Four. There are four pieces on your chess board, Dimirtri.”   
Harry had been correct - although perhaps it had been her all along - you have to let everything go. Giving it up was freedom, and in that moment she was free.   
The interrogator watched her disdainfully. He had been at this for hours, and he was certain he had broken her, but even broken she showed no signs of capitulation. There was nothing to extract from this woman. He had failed. 

“Enough of this,” he ordered, ceasing the torture, “she’s finished.” The interrogator walked over, touching her hair as she lay on the stretcher, strapped into place. “Tell me,” Sophie asked as her voice quivered, “do you have a daughter?” A quiet calm washed over Dimitri as he contemplated her question. “At university,” he answered, “literature.”   
Sophie smiled, nodding her respect for his honesty. “I hope she does well in her studies,” she answered respectfully, “it can be a great time, but a trying one.”   
There was a moment which passed between them, where they were merely two professionals doing their jobs. Sophie held to this moment as he turned to the guards and ordered, “Otvezti yeye v tanki.”  
Sophie didn’t know what ‘the tanks’ meant exactly, but she had a pretty good idea.

 

Harry stood by the helicopter in his tactical gear, tapping his foot as he awaited the rest of the crew. Merlin and Lancelot walked briskly to join him, Merlin still in his green field jumper. Harry looked at him, confused, when he explained, “John will be your pilot. You need me here for ground support. We’ve got the readout on her location at the time of activation, and the beacon hasn’t moved. Hopefully, neither has she.” Harry nodded his understanding as he watched the crew loading medical and tactical supplies. “Your flight should be just under four hours,” Merlin continued, “but we have no data on what might be awaiting you when you arrive. Lancelot - you are chief medical officer on this extraction, and if the beacon is any indication you should expect Guinevere to need immediate medical attention.”   
Lancelot gave a single nod in acknowledgement, glancing at Harry as he turned and prepared to board the helicopter, leaving Galahad and Merlin together. 

“Are you prepared for this?” Merlin asked softly, “Come what may?”   
Harry looked at him silently, rubbing his ring finger with his thumb absentmindedly. His eyes lowered as he considered this before meeting Merlin again. “It should be me,” he replied, “I should be there. I cannot remain here.”   
Merlin rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “She’s a fine agent. I’m sure it will be fine.”   
With that, Harry turned and boarded the helicopter with Lancelot. Merlin watched as it lifted from the ground before turning back to his clipboard and walking back the house to meet Edwin in the control room. He kept the tracker on, receiving constant updates even though he knew there was no logical reason to connect that signal to any assurance on Guinevere’s status. She was his friend too, but Merlin knew the best way to be her friend was to set his feelings aside and bring her home. 

Harry sat in the helicopter, staring between his feet and saying nothing. His expression was stern, removed from his surroundings as though he were trying not to think of anything at all. “We’re going to bring her home,” Lancelot called to him in reassurance. Harry looked up at him, his expression softening momentarily before blinking several times and returning to his solitary gaze. He kept thinking about her teeth, and how brutal the experience must have been over the last few days. If I had only stayed on that call longer, he thought, though he had no idea when she had been compromised. It’s easy to beat yourself up when you are consumed with worry. Harry had complete faith in his wife and her skill as a Kingsman, but Kingsman die. That truth was to be the third member of their party until Guinevere was recovered, and the sinking feeling in his stomach would remain until she was again in his arms.

 

The interrogator walked across the raised path which bridged the entrance to the metal platform which wrapped around the large tank in the center of the room. From the sub-floor, the tank looked like a large water cooler or perhaps a uniquely designed pool; but from the platform the large tank was separated into smaller chambers designed for singular submersion. Sophie stood before him, still nude and shackled as the two guards held her by her arms. “This is it,” the interrogator said as the guards released her arms, “this is your last chance to give us information and spare your life. Do you have anything to say?” Sophie merely stared at him, and though she hoped it looked defiant and strong, the truth was her mind was completely blank. She felt and thought of nothing as she stood before him. “I must tell you,” he admitted aloud, “you have proved a worthy adversary.” 

Just as the shine returned to her eyes, Dimitri pushed her off the platform. Startled, she sailed backward into the compartment and sank below the water. The weight of the shackles kept her under the surface, and as she felt the smooth sides of the compartment she tried to calm her panic. The compartment was black, completely dark inside unless Sophie looked up. Her chest began to ache, and Sophie closed her eyes as she began to exhale the air within her lungs. Just then, she felt a hand gripping her hair and lifting her by her scalp. She emerged from the water, coughing and spraying a fine mist of blood as she was dropped onto the metal platform. “It took a lot of work to bring this here,” Dimitri said coldly, pressing the receiver to her ear, “but I thought you might enjoy it.” Sophie listened to the dial tone ringing in her ear, symbolizing the world beyond that room. “Wouldn’t you like to say something to your mother?” he goaded, sardonic.

“I’m about to,” Sophie snarled, lifting her head to look into his eyes. The interrogator’s expression hardened as he waved to the guards, who tossed Sophie back into the water. She sank beneath the surface and tried to hold herself in place by pressing the sides of the compartment. She closed her eyes, but in the moment she saw...nothing. When she opened her eyes, the surroundings were black, and it was hard to tell the views apart in the cold water. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest and for a moment - she was at peace.   
Then all Hell broke loose inside her. Sophie flailed, thrashing and pounding against the walls as she air escaped her mouth slowly and she struggled in vain to get free of she shackles and reach the surface. From the platform, you could see the ripples from her movement across the surface of the water as her fingertip crossed back and forth above her head, reaching out.

 

Harry and James pulled their balaclavas over their faces, sliding down the rope that extended form the door of the helicopter and dropped to the ground below. They checked the map, stealthily approaching the large, block warehouse that stood alone in the forest. Galahad signaled to Lancelot, who flanked the entrance as Lancelot inserted a device which worked to pick the deadbolt and unlock the outer door. They both entered the sparse hall, which broke in two directions and stretched to a large center corridor with rooms on either side. The agents split on the corridor, each stepping to one of the rooms and sweeping them before tuning back to the main hall and continuing down to a single door. Lancelot stepped back from the door, allowing Galahad to take the lead on this. “I’m taking out any agitators,” he ordered, “look for Guinevere and leave the commanding officer to me.” Lancelot confirmed and opened the door for him.

The four KGB agents were standing on the platform, watching the ripples on the water when they heard the squeak from the metal door opening. Before they could react, Harry took out both guards and the nurse in a hail of gunfire. The interrogator watched as the nurse’s head blew apart as he felt a searing pain pass through his knee, shattering the cap as a second shot fired through his brachial nerve and sent him down onto the platform. “Where is Guinevere?” Galahad demanded, approaching him with his SA80 pointed and ready. The interrogator remained on the ground, bleeding as he reached for his pistol only to have Galahad step on his hand as he fixed the gun on his face. “Where is she?” he shouted, as the interrogator’s eyes drifted over to the tank. “I’m on it Galahad,” Lancelot called, looking into the tank and seeing Sophie floating there. He dropped to his knee, reaching into the water and grabbing her forearm to lift her from the tank.

Sophie was drifting as she felt the hand grip her arm and lift her onto the platform. She collapsed onto it, unresponsive as Lancelot turned to to her side in an attempt to get her to cough. Rubbing her back encouragingly, Lancelot coaxed aloud, “Come on Guinevere.” Upon hearing this, Harry looked behind him to see his wife, naked and sprawled across the platform floor and his rage built. As she coughed up water, taking forced and broken breaths Harry turned back to the interrogator with fire in his eyes. Without saying anything, he turned his rifle around and struck him forcefully in the sternum. Harry grabbed his sweater and lifted him to his feet, ignoring his painful groans as he looked past him at Lancelot. “Is she going to be alright?” Harry asked, his tone soft as Lancelot wrapped her in his field tarp and nodded. “You must forgive me,” the interrogator remarked, “I did not know she belonged to anyone.” 

Galahad scowled low, striking the Russian in his throat in response. As his throat began to close, Galahad dislocated each of his shoulders as he walked him back to the tank and dropped him into it. With no way to help himself and his throat closing, the man sank into the tank as Galahad watched him. Once he slipped below the surface of the water Galahad turned to Lancelot, who had Sophie wrapped in his tarp. Harry dropped to a knee, lifting Sophie into his arms. Her eye fluttered, incoherent but a moment where she seemed to focus right on him before closing it. Her right eye was still swollen, remaining closed as she continued to cough. “Everything is alright,” Harry soothed, “I am here.”   
Lancelot drew his weapon, leading the way as they made their way out of the room and back through the corridor to the entrance, firing on the backup as it came down the corridor. 

With the path now cleared, Lancelot called for the helicopter position as they left the warehouse and traveled to the clearing to board the Helicopter. Once they lifted off, Lancelot helped Galahad place Sophie onto a gurney on the floor so Lancelot could administer emergency care and triage. After placing her oxygen mask, he did a sweep of her body to note the severity of her wounds. Galahad was replacing the weapons and gear into storage when Lancelot called over to him, “Harry…” his tone shaken as he Galahad looked back at him. Lancelot looked crestfallen, lifting a box of latex gloves and offering them to him as Harry approached. “She’s going to need fluids and,” Lancelot explained absentmindedly, his focus shaken. Harry walked over, taking one of the gloves from the box and slipping in on. “I know I’m the medic,” Lancelot said, “but it didn’t seem right for me to do this. I thought it best you...assist.” 

Lancelot lifted the sheet to show Harry the electrodes still inside Sophie, looking away for her modesty. Harry stared for a few silent seconds, swallowing hard before he replied, “Yes, I’ll take care of it.” Lancelot turned his back to them, prepping an IV as Harry gingerly removed the steel wool, peeling the glove away from his hand and over the device before tossing it in with the medical waste. “It’s done,” he signaled to Lancelot, caressing her swollen face as she lay there unconscious. As his gentle touch pass her cheekbone, she winced. Lancelot turned back and taped the needle into place to begin the saline IV before adding a mild sedative. “This should stabilize her until we return to HQ. Once there, we’ll get her to sickbay immediately,” Lancelot assured, “This should all be reversible, although I had no idea that sort of torture...”   
Harry stroked her damp hair, “If we had been a few moments longer,” he lamented.   
“We weren’t,” Lancelot reminded him, stripping his gloves and tossing them into the bin. 

Three hours later, Merlin stood waiting with assistance as the helicopter touched down outside of Kingsman HQ. Lancelot hopped out to meet him while Galahad remained at Guinevere’s side. “We’re looking at a broken eye socket, possibly fractured cheekbone, and severe dry sockets among several of the dental extraction sights,” Lancelot briefed, “also bruised ribs, severe dehydration and we suspect burns along the genital region.”   
Merlin looked up at him in surprise as he continued his description, “We should also X-Ray her lungs. When we intercepted she was submerged, and with her previous injuries there is a risk of aspiration.” He handed his written notes to Merlin as the crew carried Sophie’s gurney from the helicopter and continued into the house. “Aye,” Merlin confirmed, quickly scrambling to stop Harry following. “We’ve got her now,” he persuaded, “Get some rest, my friend. I’ll call you as soon as she’s awake.” Harry nodded wearily, and watched them carry her away from him.


	5. This Must Be the Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home is where I want to be, but I guess I'm already there

Sophie opened her eyes slowly, looking up at the bright white of the ceiling. She looked around at the familiar instruments along the walls as it slowly occurred to her that she was back in England, within Kingsman HQ. She looked at her hand, tracing the IV from her wrist up to the bag of saline as it slowly dripped into the line. Slowly sitting up, Sophie allowed her calves to hang over the side of the bed as she blinked herself awake and peeled back the tape on her wrist around her IV. Once the needle was removed, she rose from the bed and tried to steady herself on her feet as she felt her new dental implants with her tongue. They felt unusual - different in her mouth than her teeth before, though Sophie realized they were gone forever. Sophie took her first few steps, turning and catching her reflection in the mirror over the sink along the back wall. Sophie looked at the lingering yellow and purple just underneath the skin along her right cheekbone, extending up to her temple and hairline.

She smiled, examining the dental implants alongside her teeth in the reflection. The coloring was perfect, and yet they still seemed obviously fake to her. Sophie wondered if she would come in time to hate them before she panicked slightly, wondering what other scars she might have as she shed her gown and turned before the mirror slowly. Other than the bruising that lingered across her body, she seemed unchanged apart from a bit of weight loss. She seemed relieved, but then she remembered.   
First, there was a flash as she emerged from the water, looking up at the balaclava as she was pulled to the platform. Then she remembered the feel of the tarp on her skin, those brilliant flashes of light that blurred...in and out...before she heard him. Harry’s warm and wonderful voice, enveloping like a warm and soothing fog. Everything is alright.   
I am here.

Sophie lowered her shoulders, running her hands through her waves before she stepped over to the shower and switched it on. As the blast streamed at full force, filling the open space with steam. Sophie leaned the half-wall of blocks which curbed the shower for the modesty for her male colleagues, slowly sliding to the ground and out of view as she sat beneath the pounding jets of water. From the lab, Merlin watched the recovery room feed with Edwin. With a glower born more of concern than disgust, he watched as she slid from view behind the wall. “She’s moving very well,” Edwin offered hopefully. Merlin glanced in his direction in amusement, unsure if he was annoyed or impressed. Edwin could always find the optimism in a situation. “Yes,” he confirmed, “and she’s awake. More good news.” Edwin grinned sheepishly, looking back at the feed, “I suppose we should report to Arthur. He will want to see her now that she’s awake.” 

Merlin knew he was correct, but he also knew that Harry would want to see her first. “Let’s let her freshen up first,” he replied, “I’ll take a change of clothes. Once she’s prepared, we can report to Arthur.” Edwin looked at him, nodding in agreement before he returned to his notes. As he walked away, Merlin switched the feed and went to notify Harry of the update. He found Harry in the cutting room, looking over pieces of fabric with Andrew as he prepared a suit. “Galahad,” he called, drawing him away from the tailor and to the door. “She’s awake,” he informed him, “I thought you could deliver a change of garment before Arthur is notified and goes to see her.” Harry looked up hopefully, nodding in anxious agreement before following him out of the room. “I’ve been in there passing the time,” Harry admitted as they continued down the hall, “I had no other excuse to remain.” Harry ducked into the locker room, retrieving her small case.

“I’ll hold Arthur as long as I can,” Merlin offered as they reached the recovery room door. Harry knocked gently but Merlin shook his head, “She can’t hear you Harry.” Harry clutched the bag and stepped into the room. He immediately reached above his head and unplugged the surveillance camera in the corner. He didn’t see Sophie, and rested the case at the edge of the bed as he slowly approached the running shower until he saw her, clutching her legs as she sat under the downpour. “Hello Canary,” he said softly as she looked up at him. He stopped the shower, grabbing a large towel and bending to scoop her in his arms before he turned back to the bed. “Arthur wants to see you, and I believe they are going to process your decompression should you not need additional care,” he said as he unpacked her small case, “Unless you need to see Olivia, you’ll be out of here in no time at all. Perhaps I can make you dinner tonight.”

“Olivia?” Sophie asked, seeming to snap out of her fugue. She blinked several times as Harry toweled her gently, looking up at him with large, innocent eyes. “Hello Harry,” she whispered, brushing his chin with the tips of her fingers slowly. Harry leaned in, overwhelmed in his desire as he placed a brief but consuming kiss on her lips. “That’s it pet,” he whispered as he pulled back, “let’s get you dressed before Arthur comes. Then we can get you home.” Sophie nodded, stepping into them as Harry knelt to draw her panties and garters up her legs. After he fastened her bra, Sophie threw the simple black dress over her head and finished setting her hair as Harry drew each stocking slowly up her leg and fastened it into place. “Are you alright?” he asked as she steadied herself with his forearm, standing and slipping into her heels. Before she could answer, there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” she called, still gripping his hand.

“Guinevere,” Arthur called, relieved to see her out of bed, “I’m very glad to see you so well.” Sophie released Harry’s hand and they both turned to face him. Sophie’s shoulders lifted and she smiled, “I was just thanking Galahad for such a well-executed extraction,” she replied, “I am very grateful indeed.” Arthur nodded to Galahad, who merely looked down in acknowledgement. “I want to assure you,” Sophie explained, “I gave them absolutely nothing. Nothing at all.” Arthur dismissed this response with a shake of his head. “Of course you didn’t,” he remarked, “you are a Kingsman. However, after reading your medical and extraction reports, we want to ensure you have everything you need before you consider returning to the field. We feel it best that you take at least two full weeks of mandatory decompression and that you meet with Olivia for a clearance evaluation.” Arthur looked to Harry, who nodded to Sophie before dismissing himself.

“Is that really necessary?” Sophie questioned, “I’m already feeling quite myself. I don’t think a psychiatrist is needed.” Arthur raised a hand to silence her protest, and replied as she went silent in her protest, “It’s not a reflection of you as an agent. This is required protocol for any agent who has been subjected to torture. You needn’t feel any defense. Simply report to Edwin and take your decompression,” he ordered, “you may complete the evaluation upon your return.” Sophie held her breath, lifting her head brightly as she nodded her understanding. “Yes sir,” she replied simply, “thank you sir.” Sophie began to pack her things back into the small case when Arthur added simply, “We all want you to know how thankful we are that you were recovered safely, and how we appreciate your sacrifice.” He extended his hand, shaking Sophie’s firmly before he turned and left her to finish packing.

“Guinevere!” Edwin said merily, looking up from the small bag he had been arranging as Sophie entered the lab. Sophie smiled despite herself - Edwin’s enthusiasm was infectious and she found it ceaselessly charming. “How do you like the new molars? I blended the ceramic myself to match the shade exactly.” Edwin leaned back on his heels, chuffed at that contribution. Sophie gave a courteous smile, blushing slightly as she answered, “I shall think of you after every gobstopper, Edwin. That is a promise.”   
This made Edwin blush, adjusting his glasses as he returned his focus to the small bag he had prepared. “Well, these are for your decompression,” he explained, “take them as advised. These blue pills will help you sleep and reset your circadian rhythm. Take them once you’re in bed and not before. Do you understand?” 

Sophie nodded slowly, so Edwin continued, “With your dental implants, you’re going to want soft foods for at least a few days. Be aware of hot liquids, spicy foods, and the like.” Sophie peeked over his shoulder, surveying the contents of the small bag. “What are the small white tablets?” she asked, “Super-spy recovery?” Edwin clutched his clipboard, laughing at her quip before answering, “Those are ibuprofen. You know, for any swelling or aches you might still be experiencing.” Sophie laughed, shaking her head at his thorough consideration. Edwin never fails. “Quite right,” she chuckled, “you never forget anything do you Edwin?”   
“You have your job, and I have mine.” he responded sincerely.  
“I hope someday to be as good at mine as you are at yours,” she remarked, savoring his self-conscious reaction to her praise, “Thank you Edwin. For everything.” 

 

Across town in Fulham, Sophie’s flat was silent, as it had remained these many months. Sophie left her taxi, carrying her garment bag and the small bag from Edwin as she entered the main door and made her way up the stairs to the top floor. Reaching the door, she absentmindedly fumbled for her keys and let herself in, scattering the mountain of junk mail as she stepped over it and into her living room. Sophie dropped her bags into her armchair, swept her hair from her eyes and looked across her darkened and cold flat. “Well,” she announced aloud, “that’s is quite enough lounging about I should think.” With that, she abandoned the bags, grasped her trench and stepped back over the mail she scattered as she walked back out of the flat and closed the door. Removing the keys from the lock, she tucked them into her pocket along with her wallet and left without further reflection. 

Sophie walked along the street, feeling calm if not herself. The first time she had seen an agent die, she had been consumed with an insatiable desire to feel and experience everything. It was as though she was hyper-aware of the fleeting nature of life itself; and yet, this experience had been quite different. Sophie found that it was stillness and silence that left her drunk with euphoria, as though getting to choose nothing was the ultimate luxury. She cursed herself briefly for not adding a scarf to her coat, but found she could not motivate herself to return to her flat to retrieve one. She may have found herself craving silence, but she not at all keen on the idea of being alone. Even passing people on the street brought a feeling of community that Sophie found soothing after her confinement. She decided there might be no better place for this than in her parrish, and continued along to greet Rev. Hislop and visit her church. 

She paused at the church steps, noting the sad and leggy overgrowth of the side yard before she opened the door and stepped inside. The church was barren but for a couple of women lingering in the pews in solitary reflection. Sophie was puzzled by this, looking around the chapel before crossing the back of the church to Hislop’s office in search of him. She gave a soft knock when the door opened and a young woman met Sophie at the opening. “Hello, may I help you?” she asked. Sophie looked past her into the empty office as she responded, “Yes. Hello. I was hoping to speak with Rev. Hislop. I’ve been away on business and only just gotten in.” The young woman looked a bit crestfallen, and invited Sophie in before walking back to the desk and retrieving a note from the top drawer. “You must be Sophie Hollander,” the woman asked with a tone that immediately made Sophie uneasy. “That’s right,” she answered, “were you expecting me?”

“I’m sorry to tell you this,” the woman offered, “but Lawrence Hislop...died.”  
Sophie was overwhelmed by the information, and grasped the back of the overstuffed leather chair in front of the desk for balance. “How did it happen?” she asked, swallowing hard to calm her nerves. She felt dizzy, struggling to keep her emotions at bay on this long and difficult day. “He suffered a heart attack nearly a year ago. He left you a note, saying you would be back,” she offered, “I didn’t realize you would be away so long.” She rounded the desk and extended the envelope to Sophie’s hands, allowing her to grasp it. Sophie felt the fiber in the paper but said nothing for a few moments. “Where are the children?” she finally asked, looking up in stunned grief. The woman sighed, clearly uncomfortable with being the messenger as she answered, “After Hislop passed, it was decided that moving the children to other care homes was best.”

Sophie closed her eyes, attempting and failing to ebb the tears than moistened her eyes and clung to her lashes. “So this care home is closed?” she clarified. She didn’t wait for a response, pursing her lips and nodding her comprehension. She clenched the envelope in her hand as she backed away from the chair and back toward the door. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way,” she offered, “this is still your parrish. You are welcome to service this Sunday.” Sophie stopped at the door, clearing her throat and smoothing her dress the best she could. “Yes. Thank you for everything,” she replied, “I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you with all of this.” Sophie seemed bumbling as she grasped the door without waiting for further conversation and escaping from the chamber. She walked through the corridor she knew like home and yet was suddenly uninviting and foreign to her. She felt a pressure on her chest that took her right back to that tank of water.

Sophie charged past the pews only to stop abruptly at the votive stand just beside the doors at the chapel. She wiped a single tear, looking back at the cross on the back wall before she grabbed her wallet from her pocket and placed all of the cash within in into the collection box. She lit a long reed before stepping before the candles, isolating an unlit row of ten candles and drawing a deep breath. “I light these in remembrance, and hope that they remain in Your grace as often as in my thoughts,” she whispered in prayer, “For Agatha, and William. For Nakry. For Thomas and Michael.” Sophie lit a candle for each name as she continued, “For Lee. For all of the names I did not know and faces that have faded. For all my sins remembered.” Sophie blew out the reed, grasping another and drying her tears, “For Lawrence Hislop, and for my dearest Harry - Lord please keep him safe. Keep them all close to you.” 

Sophie remained a moment, then quietly left the church. Stepping to the street, Sophie patiently waited to hail the first cab that passed in the twilight. She ducked inside, taking her seat and saying simply, “Stanhope Mews South, please.” Then, in the privacy of the cab, Sophie grasped her handkerchief and wept uncontrollably. She wasn’t quite sure what she was even weeping about specifically, but she felt as though her childhood home was erased from existence. The loss was complete and crushing, and all she wanted at that moment was to smell Harry’s neck and feel his arms around her. He was home to her now. Harry was gingerly spreading the wings of a Papilio machaon onto a glass plate when his doorbell chimed. Looking over his magnifying glasses, Harry lifted from his desk and left the study to answer the door. He opened it in surprise to discover Sophie, her eyes awash in recent tears as she stood in his doorway alone.

“Canary,” he said softly, “you’re home.”   
Harry swung the door wide, inviting her into the arms she had dreamed of the entire ride over. Sophie walked hazily into them, pressing her nose against the subtle grain of his shadow and sighing deeply. “You are home,” she mumbled, “your voice and these arms are the only home I’ll ever know.” Harry blinked slowly, feeling her shoulders shake slightly as she wept softly into his chest. “Come now,” he hushed, “it’s can’t be all bad. Everything here is good here, remember?”  
Sophie reached into her pocket and handed him the envelope without looking up. Harry opened it as he kicked the front door closed, scanning the information silently. “Oh Canary,” he sighed, “I am terribly sorry. He was a lovely man.” Sophie sniffed, nodding as she pulled from him and looked up, “The worst part is: I came straight here without thinking. I have to go all the way back to gather my things tonight. I didn’t even bring Edwin’s pills. I just wanted to be here.”

Harry smiled, “Quite right too.” He folded the letter and returned it to the envelope before pulling the coat from her shoulders. “Do not worry about your things. I will pop out and collect them for your first thing. You just settle in and light up the room with your loveliness.”   
Sophie smiled meekly as Harry placed her coat into the closet and passed her to enter the kitchen and switched on the kettle.   
“But what about my pills?” she asked him.   
“Well, it is only one night,” Harry reasoned as he pulled a canister of darjeeling from his pantry, “do you think it will be alright for one night? I do have ibuprofen in the chest.”   
“I’m sure it will be alright,” she replied, “It’s only one night.”  
Harry smiled as she assured, “It will be fine.”


	6. The First Day

Harry sprang to life when he heard her, turning to Sophie as she thrashed wildly in his bed. “Sophie, it’s alright,” he soothed, leaning over her to stroke along her forehead. Sophie replied to this contact immediately, punching him in the jaw and sending him reeling away from her. Shaken, Harry grasped his jaw and looked back at Sophie in shock. Her eyes were open but unfocused as she flailed, screaming and kicking at something only she could see. Harry watched for a few moments to get the rhythm of her attack before throwing himself into the fray, grabbing her wrists and holding them across her chest. “Sophie!” he called firmly, “Wake up my dearest.” Sophie pulled against his hold as her focus closed in on him and she stirred from her nightmare. “H...harry?” she replied, confused. Her legs relaxed against the mattress when she realized where she was, and as Harry relaxed his grip on her wrists Sophie lunged forward and squeezed him tightly. 

“I thought I was still there,” she mumbled softly, her entire body shaking uncontrollably. Harry stroked her hair as she held tightly to him, straddling her body. “I thought…” Sophie mumbled, trailing away to silence as he rubbed her back.  
“You are home,” he calmed gently, “and you are safe, Canary.” Harry continued to rub her back in small circles as her grip on him relaxed and she sat up on her own. “Terribly sorry about that,” she remarked, “I’ll only be a moment. Please go back to sleep.” Her voice was distant and disconnected, sounding more like reading instructions than speaking to another person. Harry lifted from her as she peeled back the duvet and stepped from the bed and left the room. He waited several moments in the dark, hearing nothing before he realized she hadn’t retreated to the loo. Curious, he climbed from bed and wrapped his robe around his shoulders as he went in search of her. 

He found her in his sitting room, sitting in the center of the sofa. Cautiously switching on the lamp, he asked her softly, “Canary? Why are you sitting in the dark?” Sophie blinked a few times, considering her answer before she replied, “It felt like the right thing to do.”  
Harry nodded at this, “Would you like me to switch off the lamp?” he offered. Sophie shrugged, looking out at nothing as Harry came over and sat down beside her. Sophie looked at him, noticing his emerging bruise for the first time. “Oh my love,” she whimpered, “I’m so sorry. Does it hurt badly?” She rested her palm against his cheek, and Harry smiled as he raised an eyebrow. “It was quite a way to wake up,” he said pleasantly, “makes one proud. I had no idea I was married to a prizefighter.” Sophie dropped her hand, a melancholy expression on her face. “You should go back to bed,” she suggested, “you need your rest for tomorrow.”

“As do you,” Harry countered.  
“You work tomorrow,” Sophie reasoned, “I do not. It’s four am Harry.”  
Harry paused, considering the information. “Mm-hmm,” he hummed aloud, rising to his feet and leaving the room. Sophie sighed, taking in the silence of the room for several moments in the night before Harry returned to the room with a small jar in his hand. Sitting beside her, he displayed the jar, Fortnum & Mason’s pomegranate rose souffle, watching her smile as he bent to collect her ankle. “You remembered,” she gushed as rested her feet in his lap. Harry merely smiled, opening the jar as she protested. “Harry, no,” she began, “you need your rest. Honestly.”  
“Honestly,” he countered, noting the abrasions than remained on her delicate feet, “the countless hours I sleep in this house without you.” He ran his thumb along the arch of her foot tenderly, “But not this one. This hour won’t be wasted sleeping,” he resolved, “or apart.” 

He spread the cream over the arch of her feet, rubbing them as he cupped each one and Sophie closed her eyes in bliss. “However did you remember my body cream?” she asked happily. Harry focused on rubbing the ball of her petite foot, noting her tiny moans as he rubbed back and forth. “I keep a handkerchief in my inside breast pocket,” he explained, “and I rub a bit of your cream into it to remind me of your scent.” He looked back at her, his brown eyes soft and loving, “Sometimes you are away too long.” Sophie opened her eyes, looking back as he returned his focus to her foot, alternating them to lavish his attentions on the opposite foot as they sat together. He gave special attention to the markings left behind by the Russians who dragged her some days before, trying to coax them away with his thumbs as he kneaded the skin. Sophie closed her eyes involuntarily, relaxing at his touch as she swallowed and sighed.

“I remember my mother using a cream,” Sophie mused, “we had to go all the way to Harrods to collect it. It was very posh.” Harry said nothing, continuing to rub her feet as she recalled, “I couldn’t wait to be old enough to shop there and have my very own regimen.” Sophie sniffed, “A proper lady, like my mother. Such a tragedy, what became of Harrods.” Harry raised an eyebrow, amused at his wife’s subtle snobbery. “Would madam be requesting an African elephant, or an Indian elephant?” he asked playfully. Sophie sighed, her body relaxing against the sofa as Harry rested her feet in his lap and drew his fingers over them. “That’s why I shop at Fortnum & Mason,” she resigned aloud, “Harrods has gone to blazes. My mother would be most upset.” Harry smiled at her summation but said nothing, allowing her to ruminate and for her thoughts to wander far from whatever woke her in panic before. 

Sophie sniffed, snapping back to reality. “Alright,” she announced, “enough of this. You go back to bed. I’m going to pass the time with a bit of telly.” Sophie pulled her feet from his lap, sniffing as though the sound closed the subject completely. “Well, I would,” Harry responded, “except it’s nearly half past five now.” Sophie’s expression was dysphoric as he concluded, “There wouldn’t be much point. In fact, I rather fancy a proper breakfast to start my day.”  
Sophie knew this was more about making her breakfast, but also knew debate would prove pointless, so she thought better of it. “I think watching you transform into my thoroughly scrumptious and suited gentleman sounds more satisfying,” she admitted. Harry blushed, standing and shedding his robe as he walked to the door. “One gift at a time,” he smirked as he walked from the room. Sophie merely smiled, watching him leave. 

 

Sophie watched as Harry’s hands crossed the silk of the tie’s ends across one another, tying them in a simple knot. His hands worked from memory, looping one end up and over the other, drawing it through to form his Windsor knot. Harry smirked subtly, enjoying how Sophie watched with an attention that could only be described as lustful. She sat watching him since his shave, her attention potent and alluring. “I could always retie this,” he offered, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on her lips. “Don’t tempt me,” she replied, “you’ll be late.”  
“I’m always late,” Harry admitted humorously.  
“Not because of me,” Sophie answered, “off with you.”  
Harry stopped, placing a soft kiss against her neck before he lifted and continued dressing. As he patted his aftershave on his cheeks, Sophie inhaled the intoxicating scent deeply and sighed.

“How are you feeling?” Harry asked, slipping into his coat and tucking his pocket square. He looked at her briefly, concerned but not wanting to upset her. Sophie rubbed her knees as he smoothed his hair. “I’m tired,” she answered honestly, “but I don’t want to sleep.” She looked up wearily at him and shrugged, “How are you going to explain the bruise?” She gestured to his face as Harry looked into the mirror.  
“I’m going to tell the truth,” he said affably, “I got it in a knock in house.” He continued, placing his cufflinks as Sophie leaned back and shoved him playfully with her foot.  
“Leave it out!” she scolded to his lauded amusement.  
“That’s my bride,” he commented happily, “the very personification of class and refinement.”  
Sophie stared at him, her eyes radiating good humored scorn as he finished his polish. 

“I’ll bring nicoise for dinner,” Harry informed, “along with your pills and anything you you might need from your flat when I return this evening.” He held her chin for a moment before leaving her and making his way to the coat closet. Sophie stood and followed him to the door, sad to see him go. “Relax today,” he instructed, “watch telly, maybe have a bath. Enjoy your decompression until I return.” Sophie held the door, nodding as Harry opened the front door and gave her a reassuring smile before he passed through it. Neither one wanted him to leave, yet the time had come to carry him away from her. This was the unspoken mantra of their lives: there was always some demand which carried one of them away from the other. It was Sophie’s turn to watch the door close, knowing he was on the other side of it. No amount of wanting would change things - this was simply the way of it. Sophie lingered a moment, then moved on.

 

Sophie turned the tap, watching as the tub filled with steaming water. She shed her robe, casting it aside and pacing along beside the tub as it filled. The water rippled slightly from the tap to the sides before settling, and Sophie couldn’t quite figure out why but she was dreading this particular bath. She dismissed the obvious explanation as being too ridiculous: she was not equating a Russian torture tank to Harry’s bathtub. Yet, there was something about this bath that unsettled Sophie to her core, and she was determined to best it while alone. Sophie took a deep breath to steady her lightheadedness and stepped into the filled tub. Sinking down to a sit, Sophie clenched her knees tightly as she sat in the hot water. “See,” she assured aloud, “right as rain.” She attempted to willfully ignore the feeling of panic as she gripped the wall of the tub and slowly lowered each leg down into the water. “Fine,” she shivered, “perfectly fine.”

Her heart was beating in her throat, and if Sophie could be honest with herself she would admit that this trial by fire was a bad idea. However, Sophie was unwilling to believe that she could be bested by a simple bathtub - and would remain in silence in that bathtub as long as it took to feel that she hadn’t been. She remained in the still and tepid water as the time passed, breathing slowly as she attempted to convince herself that she was, in fact, calm. She tried to recline in the water, only to find the idea of sinking below made her dizzy. Though she breathed deeply, Sophie felt like there was no air in the room, and her heart pounded in her chest as though it might burst through it. Sophie began to wonder if she needed Olivia’s evaluation, only to hate herself for it. Of all the things she’d been through, in all the trials she had faced - how was this bath so intimidating? How was tap water debilitating her when gunfire hadn’t?

If only she’d had Edwin’s pills. Then she would’ve slept through the night and not had her entire life poisoned by all this doubt, which hung thick and black and poisoned everything it touched. The water had grown cold, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to warm it. She thought of the moment Dimitri pushed her into the water, gazing at him as she sailed backward into that tank. _What was his actual name?_ she wondered. She wanted to take some solace in his demise, but she couldn’t. He was gone. Yet he was still here, haunting her.  
Goddamnit Edwin.  
Breathe in, Sophie. Breathe out. Feel everything.  
Feel everything, and try to calm the voice inside yourself that cries, _get out. Get out.  
GET OUT._

The front door opened, closing and shaking Sophie from her thoughts. She looked at her fingers, wondering how long she had been in that bathtub. “Canary?” Harry called from outside the room. Sophie ran her moist hand over her face, hoping she hadn’t cried without realizing it. She did not want Harry to return home to find her in such a state. “I’m in here,” she called. Harry rapped on the open door, lingering behind it until Sophie called him into the room. He presented her with a box of rose and violet creams in a beautiful turquoise box. “For the discerning lady,” he effused, leaning down to place a soft kiss upon her forehead as he gripped the side of the tub. “That water is cold, Canary,” he commented, “you should get out. I’ll put the kettle on and you can warm up with a lovely cup of tea.” With that, Harry turned and walked out, leaving Sophie to pull the plug and lift herself from the bath. She wrapped herself in her fluffy robe, wondering how long this feeling would last as she left the room and found him in the dining room.

“How was your day?” Sophie asked as Harry placed a cup of tea into her hands. Harry returned his shopping bags, unloading the items and sorting them along the table. “Uneventful,” he answered simply, stacking boxes and carrying them to the pantry. He stopped in the doorway of the kitchen, watching Sophie sip her tea slowly. “You must be exhausted, my love,” he commented as she returned the cup to its saucer. Sophie smiled as she looked up at him wearily, “I only look exhausted,” she quipped was a tiny sigh. Her expression turned and she turned her focus back to the cup, “I haven’t quite felt myself today, Harry. That is all.”  
“If you aren’t feeling well,” he suggested, “You could make an early night of it, or I could make you a simple meal first. Don’t feel pressured to remain awake for my sake if what you need is rest.” Harry touched her hair, noting her melancholy as he accepted the empty teacup. 

“Come with me,” he instructed, “I’d like to show you something.” Harry set her cup onto the dining table and continued up the staircase to his study with her behind him. There he pulled a chair and offered it to her, standing beside it and offering her his magnifying glasses. He switched on the lamp above his desk, shining it over the wings of the Papilio machaon spread in colorful display. “My love,” Sophie announced in hushed praise, “you are working again. How wonderful.” Harry smiled in warmest satisfaction, directing her attention to the wings pinned on display. “Behold the Papillo machaon, or the Old World Swallowtail, and note the beauty of her black, white, and especially blue,” he said sweetly, “For that blue is not really there at all.” Sophie looked up queerly before replacing his magnifier and looking closer at them. “Then how can I see it?” Sophie asked curiously, “It’s on both of the wings, isn’t it?” 

“Four wings,” Harry correctly softly, “there are four wings here, pet.” Harry rested one fist on the desk as he continued, “The blue scales are special indeed: shaped on a microscopic level to filter out other forms of light and reflect back this vivid blue. Look how the light changes the blue as it moves across it.” Harry shifted the lamp, demonstrating how the blue shimmers across it. “Lepidoptera,” he explained, “from the Greek for ‘scale’ and ‘wing’, these little scales command so much, yet will bare any tear or damage forever without the means to repair itself.” Harry paused, his expression wistful as he thought of it. Sophie laid a hand atop his fist, encouraging as she mused, “So much effort just to attract a suitor? I sometimes envy the base directness of nature.” She swayed slightly, observing the changes in the blue through the magnifying glasses. “A suitor?” Harry replied and he leaned over her, “Oh my dearest, it’s so much more than that.” 

“Oh?” Sophie queried, intoxicated at Harry’s evident zeal as he spoke on his great interest. “Oh yes,” he informed her, “the wings do so much more than draw appeal from the onlooker. They help both to conceal and to misdirect, offering protection in the wild and sometimes deceive those who mean them harm. They warm them by absorbing the sunlight with their colors, and some males even have scented scales to sway the eye of a potential lady.” Harry smiled looking down as Sophie examined the wings. “She uses her markings and makes her vibrancy an asset to her continued survival,” Harry said, “Something I’m sure you can understand.” Sophie was struck by his remark, and looked away from him as she tried to calm herself. “These delicate little wings even have tubular veins,” Harry informed her, “which nourish them and makes oxygen exchange possible.” 

“They breathe with them?” Sophie asked, amused by the information. She looked up to him, her lower lip still quivering a bit. “I think you’re right,” she said kindly, “it’s terribly sad that butterflies can’t repair their wings.” Sophie squeezed Harry’s hand in her grip. “I had no idea they were so important,” she admitted. Harry knelt down, meeting Sophie’s face with his as he replied, “So you see, she may seem delicate, but there’s a lot more to her when you really look.” Sophie looked at him, her eyes enormous through the magnifying glasses. “My God, but you are beautiful,” he whispered. Sophie removed the glasses, pressing her forehead to his and closing her eyes. “Shall I make you something for dinner?” he asked, “You could have an early night.”  
Sophie caressed his cheek, her eyes still closed as she pulled away. “I’m going to be dining with my husband, actually,” she replied, “but thank you. And for this as well - I love it.”  
Sophie gestured back to the butterfly and Harry smiled as his eyes passed over her. “I’m going to begin preparing dinner,” he said, rising on his feet. He lifted his fist from the table, grasping Sophie’s hand and reluctantly letting it slip through his grip. “Would you mind if I stayed here and admired your butterfly?” she asked, “I’ll take great care not to damage it.” Harry blushed pridefully, leaning in to kiss her temple. “Of course you may,” he said merrily, “I’ll collect you when dinner is prepared.” Harry walked to the door as Sophie replaced the magnifying glasses and turned back to the display. “Oh, and Canary,” Harry called, “don’t fret if you mar her a bit. A scar never rendered anything unlovable, and certainly not anything so remarkable.” Sophie looked to Harry, pursing her lips as her magnified eyes shined lovingly back at him. “Take all the time you need,” he advised, leaving her in silence to admire the display. 

 

“My word,” Sophie exclaimed as she took her seat, “you can hear that concert all the way from Hyde Park!” Harry looked up, seemingly oblivious to the booming in the summer air. “Should I close the windows?” he asked. Sophie shook her head, returning to her meal without further comment. Harry collected both plates, carrying them through to the kitchen as she read the small bottle of pills from Edwin. She turned it over, looking for further instruction but finding none. “I suppose they are like the energy pills,” Sophie guessed, “and you take them by biting down.”  
“When did you take the energy pills?” Harry asked curiously, “I’ve never seen it in your reports.”  
“Michael Fellowes’ funeral,” Sophie replied as she read the bottle. Harry simply nodded. Sophie took two of the pills, not wanting to experience a second night of nightmares and especially not wanting to do so in Harry’s company. While he remained in the kitchen rinsing dishes, she tossed one pill into her mouth and swallowed.

She then finished her wine and popped the second pill into her mouth. Placing it between her teeth, she bit down on the firm capsule and allowed the mildly chalky liquid to flow down her throat. Harry was speaking to her, but Sophie immediately noticed her focus begin to fade as she swallowed hard and tried to stand up. “Harry…” she called, gripping the edge of the table, “help.” Harry heard her request, leaving the sink and drying his hands on his apron as he crossed into the kitchen to her. Sophie’s eyes were glassy, and swayed slightly as she tried to take a step closer to him. “Allow me,” he instructed, meeting her and lifting her in his arms. “Edwin’s medicine…” Sophie mumbled, cuddling close to Harry’s chest as he carried her to bed. “I think you’ll recall, you shouldn’t take those pills until you are already in bed.” Harry said, amused as he carried her. He loved getting to care for her, though he loathed the reason. 

He reached the bedroom, throwing back the duvet before he lowered Sophie into bed. She rolled into place, already sleeping deeply as he tucked her into bed. Harry sat beside her for a moment, wondering how he could help her through this period. He knew she was struggling, and though his wife had the tendency to withdraw during times Harry could see this time was different. She was shaken by this recent experience, and no amount of butterfly metaphor was going to set it right. Harry stroked her hair, smiling as Sophie instinctively pressed her cheek to his hand in her sleep. If she could be shaken from herself, she could regain her confidence. Harry was certain there was a path to this, and he meant to help her find it as much as he possibly could. He looked at her face one last time before turning off the light and returning to the kitchen to finish washing up.


	7. Gloriana

“Goodness me,” Sophie called, walking into the the dining room, “back in the kitchen. I’m beginning to feel like the Countess of Carnarvon, keeping you in such demand.” Harry looked up from the table, placing the final spoon into place from memory. “Not Almina,” he queried, scandalized. Sophie raised an eyebrow, a sly smile forming on her still sleepy visage. “You might very well think that,” she replied, “I couldn’t possibly comment.”  
Harry poured her grapefruit juice, pulling her chair as he returned to the kitchen to retrieve the coffee. “You’re going to be late for work,” Sophie called before taking her seat, “again.”  
Harry returned, pouring the coffee for both before untying his apron and lifting it from his neck. Sophie admired his rolled sleeves, slipping her hand into his as he took his seat. “It’s Saturday, Canary,” Harry said, gently breaking the information as he lifted his coffee cup and took a sip.

“What?” Sophie immediately asked. She looked around the room, noting the packed cases which sat beside the front door and Harry’s informal dress as she tried to comprehend the information. “Have I been sleeping for over thirty hours?” she asked, confused at the idea that she had lost so much time. Harry looked sympathetically at her, dismissing her worry as he replied simply, “You seemed tired.” He lifted her plate and began placing breakfast unto it as he continued, “and doubling one’s medicine is not a sound idea. Now you know.” Sophie looked at him sheepishly, only to have him dismiss his tone as he returned her plate. “Not to worry,” he announced, “I have taken some time away. I think it would be good for both of us to go on a little adventure.” Sophie looked at the packed cases a second time, wondering what he has spent the Friday arranging, “I would think given our work, adventure wouldn’t exactly be an escape.”

“There are many different ways to escape,” Harry countered, “and from many different concepts.” He took another bite of his mushroom as Sophie sipped her grapefruit juice in silence. “Sometimes the silence of home can be more like a cell than a sanctuary,” he said tenderly, “We are on a journey, and if you trust me I promise you it will be worth it.” Sophie looked into his beautiful brown eyes and smiled. “Of course I trust you,” she assured him, squeezing his idle hand with hers at the corner of the table. They shared a brief glance before returning to their breakfast in silence. Sophie could tell Harry had some giddy scheme in the works, but was torn between nervous excitement and worry as she considered what it might be. She considered any other woman on the eve of forty being surprised by their husbands, realising it was highly unlikely he had booked a weekend in Brighton. He was an exceptional man, her husband - and perhaps she was too, and the notion filled her with an amorous glow. 

“Whatever has you in such deep thought?” Harry inquired as Sophie stared out silently. Sophie shook her head, dismissing the thought. “Forty,” she said simply. She lifted her napkin from her lap and stood to return her dishes to the kitchen, ignoring Harry’s silent gazes of protest. “You don’t look a day over thirty!” he protested, to Sophie’s round laughter from the kitchen, “That’s years away from you.” Sophie returned for her glasses when he intercepted her, hugging her midsection. “Days away,” she corrected, “you grave robber.”  
“I am a pagan of the elegant,” Harry said seriously, turning her from the table and facing him, “how have I not worshiped yet today?” Harry rubbed his nose gracefully against hers before pressing his soft lips to hers as he held her close. “And bacon scented??” he quipped, “My God, you really are perfect.” Sophie rolled her eyes, pushing him away as she blushed. 

“Go shower,” he ordered, “I’ll attend to this. Then we’ll want to be getting on the road before the day’s traffic really picks up.” Sophie nodded reluctantly, skeptical at his resolve. “It’s 5AM Harry,” she replied, “where are we going that requires such an early departure?” Harry finished piling the flatware onto his plate before he looked to reply, “Dover.”  
“Dover?” Sophie said, surprised. Harry said nothing as he cleared the table and walked into the kitchen. “I’d like to leave by 7AM,” he called as Sophie heard the sink tap fill the basin.  
_Maybe he was the sort of husband to book a weekend away_ , Sophie thought as she turned and walked to the bathroom. When she emerged from the shower, she found an outfit folded on the already-made bed awaiting her and a small bag for her to pack her washbag. Typical Harry - nothing had been overlooked. “Dover is only two hours away,” Sophie called as she dressed.

“That is correct,” Harry stated from the hall, as he double checked all the supplies he had packed. Sophie met him, holding her small bag. Harry kissed her cheek when he saw her, touching her still damp hair as it spilled around her collared shirt. “I hope the outfit was acceptable,” he checked as Sophie looked down and shrugged at her khaki shorts and simple ballerina flats. “Why leave so early if we’re only going to Dover?” she asked. Harry took her bag, opening the front door and carrying the first bags to his Land Rover just outside the door. Sophie followed, grabbing the next bags and handing them down to him as he loaded them into the boot of the vehicle. “Because,” Harry huffed, “we are not remaining there. We are on a journey, remember?” Sophie smiled, relieved as she recognized his familiar pattern. This was the Harry she knew so well. “Together,” she replied, “We’re on a journey together. Let’s go.”

Sophie grabbed the last bag and walked down the steps to the passenger side, climbing into her seat as Harry set his alarm and closed the house. They both fastened their seatbelt and Sophie reached for little music player to bring up her special playlist for travel. “It’s for the train,” Sophie said, pulling a face, “but hopefully it will do.” As her delicate collection of classical pieces played softly in the background, Harry started the car while Sophie opened her handbag and produced her book of crossword puzzles. She opened the pen, turning it around as the cap remained in her mouth and she read the first clue. Harry glanced at her at the stoplight, amused at her furrowed brow. “Out with it,” he commented at her strained focus. Sophie looked over to him fleetingly before she relented. “Inclined to see pole dancing as opening,” she read, “six letters.”  
Harry thought for a moment, “Aslope?” he suggested as Sophie sighed, writing it in. 

“Of course,” she replied, “my brilliant husband.” She returned to filling the little boxes and Harry focused on the road, carrying them out of London as Prokofiev filled the silence. Harry was suddenly quite pleased he had never shared this with Sophie, certain that this was the perfect time to do so. “Genius?” Sophie called as Harry continued along the motorway, “See green papers rejected by home countries? Seven letters,” Harry pondered the clue before Sophie cried triumphantly, “Diocese!” She scribbled her answer in and Harry continued happily, elated to see her cheery and radiant after the recent events. He found great hope in seeing her well, realizing of late that he had never considered her actually dying before this mission. Perhaps she benefited from being so reserved and self-reliant. Now Harry knew he did too, and he did not like that realisation. He did not want the aftermath of this to destroy the retreat his home had come to be for them both, and above all he worried about her avoiding her feelings for similar reasons.

 

Sophie stood at the marina, looking across at the gleaming sailboat as two men loaded supplies at the dock. Harry walked up to meet her, holding a box as she admired it. “Gloriana?” Sophie asked, reading the name from the boat. She looked at him with a sly grin before remarking, “I’m a monarchist, but honestly…” Her sentence faded to a few clicks of the tongue as she turned her focus back to the boat but her smile only grew. “Perhaps I’m merely an avid reader,” Harry shrugged as he gestured to the stern. He leaned slightly, touching his shoulder to hers slightly. “Oh! I see,” Sophie mocked, “I suppose then, my question must be: Spenser or Moorcock?” Harry sighed as he admitted, “Moorcock.”  
Sophie gasped softly, “It’s worse than I thought.” She lifted on her flats before rolling back in her stance. “What does THE woman who has everything really need? Why, a man of course!”

Sophie sniggered quietly, her contempt for the book evident below her snark. “Well…” Harry goaded, “don’t they?” Sophie looked at him, her cheeks pink as she scowled at him.  
“If she has everything,” Sophie reasoned, “then she already has at least one lover.” Sophie stuck her hands into her pockets, slowly raising her shoulders as she continued, “In my experience, anyway.” It was Harry’s turn to flash a disapproving glance, which Sophie triumphantly ignored.  
“What about the woman who IS everything?” Harry cooed in an attempt to rebound.  
“She’s not easily flattered,” Sophie quipped, “I doubt the Queen would choose such a name.”  
Harry nodded in defeat, passing the box from his hands and into hers. “Thank you,” Sophie said, opening the box and removing the simple non-slip boat shoes contained therein.

“I was twenty-one when I named the boat,” Harry offered, “perhaps I should rename it, reflect on what a man could tell that boy about women.” There was a beat of self-awareness in his sentiment that made Sophie immediately want to soothe his doubt. “I think he’s done alright,” she said sweetly, “don’t change him.” Harry smiled, catching her reassuring gaze as he gripped her hand. “So,” she sniffed, shifting the focus, “was this to be your bachelor pad? Your wild, Bond-inspired romantic getaway?” Her nose wrinkled as she squeezed his hand flirtatiously.  
“This was where I did lots of reading,” Harry answered simply, “I looked up at the stars at night and I wished for someone like you.” Harry leaned in, placing a brief kiss on her lips before he released her hand and stepped forward. As her eyes opened, Harry instructed, “Come on, and don’t forget your shoes. You don’t want to slip.”

Sophie paused, bending to replace her shoes as Harry walked ahead to meet the workers loading the supplies. They were finished as she approached the boat, and she only briefly greeted them before Harry reached down from the cutter to help Sophie aboard. Sophie hugged to Harry for stability, looking around at the gleaming transom as she adjusted to the motion. “I was rather thinking we’d take the week.” Harry informed her, “Sail away with me? Dare I say it - sometimes even The Dorchester is not enough.” Sophie’s was glowing as she looked back at him, completely surprised. “You kept your word,” she effused, “a proper holiday!” Sophie shook her head, overwhelmed by his gesture and her excitement. “I always keep my word,” he replied seriously, “You deserve a holiday Canary. We both do.” Sophie nodded happily, taking a deep breath. “Can I help?” she asked anxiously, elated by his smile. 

“Well, I have a visual check to complete,” Harry answered, “but if you’d like to unpack a bit in the bedroom, once we are ready you could raise the sail.” Sophie agreed, leaving him to begin his checks as she stepped down into the cabin. She looked around at the lovely small kitchen and dining space before crossing through to the bedroom, grasping Harry’s weekender bag to retrieve bed linens and towels. As she set to readying their living space, Harry double checked the rigging and the winches. Harry favored the meticulous nature of sailing, and was extremely pleased at Sophie’s delighted reaction to the morning’s surprise. With so much of their relation spent apart from one another, he had developed an entire routine in planning for their times together and executing his grand affections. When he planned these things, he was calling across the distance: whispering his love as though she were there. It was, for him, proof. 

Once he finished, Harry joined Sophie as she was making the bed and grasped the opposite corner to assist her in pulling the sheet tight and tucking it. They worked closely, their complementary style perfectly articulated in the small space. “You were twenty-one when you bought this?” Sophie asked, incredulous. Harry blushed slightly as he stuffed his pillow into a new case, “Just after that business with Thatcher. What did you do with your signing bonus?” Sophie dropped the pillow to fluff it, “I paid off my flat.”  
“Such maturity,” Harry ribbed, “You are always ahead on the practical.”  
“That is certainly not true,” Sophie scoffed, “my delightfully organized husband.”  
Sophie kissed his cheek as she passed, dodging the bookcase on the wall and exiting the bedroom. She crossed through, climbing the stairs to the deck with Harry in pursuit. 

“Oh,” Sophie gushed, “it’s lovely here. Simply gorgeous.” Harry touched the small of her back tenderly as he passed and prepared to instruct her. “Now, as the sails have already been attached for us, we simply need to raise them.” he began, “Simply grasp the outhaul there and pull it taught.” Sophie watched as Harry directed, taking the small line in her hands and stretching the sail. “Very good,” Harry continued, “now you’ll want to grab the halyard and pull down. Mind the flapping!” Sophie pulled down, sending the sail up before Harry took control by placing his hands over hers. “Next, we cleat the halyard. I’ll attend to this part, you watch my movements for next time.” Sophie stepped away, watching as Harry completed the task. He released the line, dusting his hands as he turned back to her. “Well done, Mrs. Hart,” he said sweetly, “we’ll make a sailor of you yet.”

“Are you pleased, my love?” Harry asked, wrapping an arm around her as the sail caught wind. “I love this already,” she replied, “thank you my dearest.” Harry’s eyes swept over the sail as he considered the heading. He kissed her temple before parting from her to focus on turning the boat. “I’ll attend to this my love, you relax and take in the day,” he commented, “Perhaps we can have a nice cup of tea after.” Sophie nodded, taking a step back and sitting to watch as he worked away. Sophie found his silent thoroughness extremely attractive, and was positively rapturous to discover there was still so much to discover and learn about her husband. As she watched his hands and shoulders, she tried to calm her anxious worry about being intimate with him again. She wanted her husband so badly, but was terrified at the thought that she might be damaged in some way after the torture. What on Earth would she do? How could she work?

Tears had welled in Sophie’s eyes as she sat thinking about it, catching Harry’s attention as he finished his work. “Canary?” he asked cautiously, “Are you alright?” Sophie looked up, her eyes going wide as she dismissed his worry with a bright expression. “I was just imagining all of the women you must’ve romanced on this boat,” she flirted mischievously, enjoying the deep crimson as it swept over his face, “My word Mr. Hart - you’re blushing.” Harry stood before her, rosy-cheeked and stutter-stuck at her imaginings. “Are there other women?” he mused again, drinking in her giddy expression. “Ha,” Sophie replied simply, stretching in the sea breeze.  
“If you still feel cheated by the decline of Harrods,” Harry recalled, “we can go collect one.” His confidence returning as he peacocked, he pointed as he continued “Africa or India?” Sophie sighed dreamily at him, “Alas, no elephant for me I’m afraid. Bully for Fortnum and Mason.”

Harry bent down, placing a single gentle kiss on Sophie’s lips as she looked up to him. “There have been no other women on this boat,” he whispered, “I was waiting for you.” Sophie scoffed loudly as this attempt at charm, laughing as she replied, “I was twelve years old! I was waiting for Duran Duran in 1981.” She continued chuckling as Harry raised a disapproving eyebrow.  
“Well,” he remarked, “thank goodness some things change. Wherever would we keep LeBon the elephant?” He gently caressed her chin as he admitted, “I did have one sailing companion, but Mr. Pickle was not a conversationalist.” He smiled as he remembered, and Sophie whimpered softly. “Oh, Mr. Pickle,” she sighed, “I miss him Harry.” She gripped his fingers as his eyes shined with a pang of sadness for his pet. “Did he have one of those adorable little safety belts?” Sophie asked, squeezing his hand for support. “Yes,” Harry replied, “He hated it.”

“I’m going to make you a lovely cup of tea,” Harry offered, sniffing as he shook away the memories and focused on Sophie, “You stay here and enjoy this gorgeous day at sea.” He didn’t wait for a response before leaving Sophie for the kitchen, and she hoped he hadn’t been too saddened at the thought of his dear pet. She loved the tender heart her husband kept so tightly packed from public view, coveting the experience above all others in life. Perhaps Harry knew this about her, as he often proclaimed her to be the sole possessor of his heart. She often prayed to be a better, more selfless partner to him; but then he looked at her and she knew that there simply would not come a time when she didn’t want every drop of him all to herself. There was nothing in life as delicious or as desperate as the knowledge of his passion for her, and she relished the idea of not having shared it with anyone. 

“Harry?” Sophie called as he returned with a flask of tea, “Where are we going?” Harry took a seat beside her, gently handing the hot tea over to her.  
“No place in particular,” Harry answered, “I plotted a journey, but I thought it would be much nicer without a destination.”  
This surprised Sophie, as it seemed very unlike Harry to not have every detail completely planned. “I see,” she said, sipping her tea, “a wild, adventurous side to my husband.” Harry’s shoulders lifted as she concluded, “How very exciting. I cannot wait to find out what happens next.” Sophie held her flask, feeling the gentle motion which channeled from the water and up through the boat, “I think it’s the perfect way to spend an anniversary: away from it all, together, all while able to be affectionate out in the open. Sort of. What a treat!”

 

After finishing the unpacking and sharing a light meal, Harry and Sophie returned to the transom to watch as the sun disappeared in the horizon and was slowly replaced with a blanket of the most brilliant stars. Harry sat in the corner of the bench seat, with Sophie resting her head in his lap to gaze up at the heavens. In had been over an hour since they said anything at all, merely breathing as Harry brushed his fingers through her hair in the darkness. “Harry?” Sophie murmured, her voice tiny and trembling as she sat up and turned to him. “You know I want you,” she pleaded, her nerves evident, “so very much…”  
Harry merely caressed her cheek, an act which caused the tears to spill down her cheek and wash his hand. “I don’t think I can tonight my love,” she admitted, “I’m sorry.”  
“Shh…” Harry calmed her, “None of that. It’s been a big day. I’ll get your pills, you go make yourself comfortable.” He kissed her temple, lifting as she watched him leave.


	8. Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The poem featured is Edmund Spenser's Amoretti Sonnet #75
> 
> It can be enjoyed here: https://www.eecs.harvard.edu/~keith/poems/amoretti75.html

Harry sat up in bed, reading as Sophie rested her head on his legs and stretched across the bed. She looked up at the shelf Harry had mounted on the wall, reading the spines of the books which were held into place by a thick rubber band. “Have you read all of these?” she asked, tapping the spines with her bare foot. “Mm-hmm,” Harry affirmed, without looking up from his article, “I spent many happy hours reading on this boat. I’ve always been the sort to prefer being alone with a good book if given the opportunity.” Sophie looked as he sat reading, staring at the print ad on the back page of the magazine. “I could go?” she joked, “Just hop off perhaps?”  
“That won’t do at all, thank you,” Harry said, lowering the magazine and looking over her, “I’ve grown quite accustomed to you. Your absence would prove most distressing to me.”   
“You know, sometimes,” Sophie said sarcastically, “you might actually be too romantic.” 

Sophie grinned playfully as he dropped the magazine to focus on her. “I wish I had known you then,” she lamented aloud, tapping the books with her toes before dropping her leg to the bed again, “Or Sandhurst.” Harry lifted his hand, instructing her to roll over with a flip of his wrist. Stopping her as she lifted, Harry slid forward as he rolled his cuffs and rested his hands on her shoulders. “I’m glad you didn’t know me then,” he commented as he gently pressed his thumbs along the back of Sophie’s neck, “I was not a gentleman worthy of you then. I was too brash, too arrogant. So eager to prove myself when performing.” Harry continued rubbing Sophie’s shoulders as she moaned softly, “I also failed to impress ladies at the time. I had terrible timing.”  
“Nonsense,” Sophie argued, “Girls were mad about you. Your intense allure frightened them.”  
Harry reclined Sophie to counter in protest, only to be interrupted, “I have spoken!” she mocked. 

“I joke about waiting for you,” Harry muttered as he ran his palms down her back, “but I never saw you coming. I never thought I’d meet someone who would be such a perfect match and I would love so dearly.” Harry continued to massage Sophie’s back, working around the cords of her bathing top as she stretched before him. “When I thought back on my life,” Harry admitted, “I’d close my eyes but I’d see nothing. Absolutely nothing.” His confession surprised Sophie, who turned her head to Harry, looking up as he focused on her back. He worked in silence, gently squeezing her tense muscles as he took slow, contented breaths. “I did that too,” Sophie revealed, “in that tank. I tried to calm myself when I thought it was the end, but I didn’t see anything. It was just darkness…” Sophie trailed away, her mind settling someplace which darkened her expression and drew her away from him, “Maybe there is nothing to see.” 

“Of course, with my butterflies and my baking, my schoolmates drew a very different conclusion about my appetites,” Harry said, lovingly interrupting her dark train of thought, “People have often mistaken that.” Sophie smiled as she listened, imagining him as a student. She sighed happily, and Harry grabbed her upper arms and hugged her close to him. “How I’d love to show you off to all of them,” he whispered, pressing to her, “but then I’d have to share you. I have no desire to do that.”   
Sophie wrapped her hands around his, closing her eyes as she felt his warmth radiate into her. “Obviously I support whatever appetite you happen upon,” Sophie remarked, “but personally, I am very glad they were wrong. Purely selfishly, you understand.” Harry said nothing at her jest, softly kissing her ear as he held her close to his chest.   
“I sometimes lament the being secret,” she huffed, “but never the being private.” Sophie rested her head on Harry’s shoulders, relaxing against him as the boat rocked softly along the waves. “Perhaps that’s why I joined the army,” Harry offered, “I almost decided to chase butterflies professionally instead.” This thought made Sophie chuckle softly as he remembered aloud.   
“I love it,” she replied, “Harry Hart, butterfly marauder. You’d still need the umbrella.” She continued laughing softly as Harry squeezed her and they both cuddled close to one another. The past few days sailing had been curious, with both Harry and Sophie stepping lightly around each other. They both seemed nervous, unfamiliar in the wake of her recent experience. Harry had come to depend on affection to bond them, and Sophie’s sudden disinterest in his advances not only confused him but also left him feeling surprisingly rejected. He said nothing to Sophie on this, however. He knew she wasn’t meaning to be hurtful, and he did not want her upset.

Sophie stroked down Harry’s arm, slowly drawing her fingertips down the length of his arm as she reclined in his embrace. She looked up, pressing her nose under his chin and against his unshaven neck as Harry sighed. He dropped his head, brushing Sophie’s lips before connecting in a slow, hungry kiss. Sophie grasped Harry’s shoulder, pulling him tightly to her as she enticed his tongue into her mouth. There was only the sound of the waves against the hull as Harry and Sophie embraced in the bed; both were yearning for the contentment they found in one another. Harry stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, gently caressing her neck as she continued kissing him. “I don’t want to scratch you,” Harry whispered as their lips parted, “I should shave.”  
“I don’t mind it,” Sophie panted, “I’ve never seen you like this. I quite like my rugged fisherman husband: sailing away from posh and into a bit of rough.” 

Harry responded to her remark with a sudden, more forceful kiss. Sophie melted at his romantic overture, enraptured as he tasted her. Her soft moans only served to tease his ache further. Sophie’s hand slipped up his neck and lightly pulled his hair between her fingers. Harry growled, barely audible as his hand left the small of her back and traced up the inside of her thigh. Sophie was immediately struck with panic, and bolted upright as she left his embrace. She didn’t look back at him and her shoulders slumped forward. She looked closed and aloof. “Are you alright?” Harry asked, but as he rested a hand on her back Sophie defensively pulled away from his touch.   
“I, um…” Sophie stumbled, attempting to recover as she shivered. Her entire body trembled as she could only breathe for a few moments. “I’m sorry,” she continued, “for a moment there I remembered. If you’ll give me just a few moments I will be right with you.”

Sophie was trying very hard to hide her anxiety, but for Harry it was painfully on display. He watched her back, still turned away from him as she tried to regain her composure; simply wanting to take her in his arms and rock her to sleep, except suddenly that too seemed wrong.   
“I’ll make you a nice cup of tea,” he offered softly, “nothing a spot of tea can’t make better.” Sophie felt him lift from the bed as her shame mounted, “I am sorry, my love,” she whispered.   
“For what?” he replied, leaning down and placing a gentle kiss on the top of her head, “I’ll be but a moment.” Sophie watched him leave the bedroom, calming her breathing as she listened to Harry rattle around in the kitchen. She was terrified, because as Harry’s fingers felt up her thigh, she could swear what she felt was steel wool. She brought her trembling to a halt before rising to her feet and joining him in the in the living area. 

 

“Why did you join the army?” Sophie asked as she took a seat at the dining booth opposite the kitchen counter.   
“What?” Harry asked, setting a cup of tea and biscuits in front of Sophie before he turned back to collect his own. He took a seat on the opposite side of the booth, allowing a space between them that did not go unnoticed with Sophie. She looked down, sipping her tea before she replied, “You said, ‘perhaps that is why I joined the army’ but you failed to elaborate. What did you mean?” Sophie looked over the teacup at Harry, trying not to compound her embarrassment by crying as she gazed at him. She wanted to know he didn’t feel rejected, but she did not want to have to admit the root of her panic to him. She hoped that in time, the feeling would pass. It had to, for a future where Sophie didn’t find comfort in his arms was simply unthinkable.

“Oh,” Harry responded, “well after some previous experience with other schoolmates, I found that I preferred being alone, but academic solitude is quite different from military solitude.” He took a long sip of his tea and concluded, “A military man can live a solitary life by design, and the offer to become a Kingsman ensured that. So it seemed the more reasonable decision.” It was one of those extremely rare moments that occur only in the most intimate relationships: Harry was lying, and Sophie knew it. “That might be some of the story, Sophie said coolly, “but it isn’t the entire story. What’s the rest of it?” Sophie raised a curious eyebrow when Harry choked slightly on his tea upon hearing her question. “I mean,” Sophie offered, “you could’ve been a scholarly bachelor without the army. Besides, it didn’t exactly turn out that way for you.”  
“Thank Heavens,” Harry replied charmingly.

“Don’t change the subject,” Sophie scolded, setting her teacup down. She rested her chin in her palm and leaned in to listen to him. Harry blushed, tapping the table lightly before confessing, “The rest of the story is…that I liked it.” Harry looked deeply into Sophie’s eyes and said, “I learned that I could resolve a conflict with brute force, and I really liked that feeling.” He sounded immature, foreign to Sophie as he remembered and she rested a hand over his as she leaned over the small table and listened. “A boy at school destroyed a specimen I had been working on,” Harry remembered, “then he called me a puff. He said I could never be one of the lads, and I belted him. The fight was broken up and we were severely punished for fighting, but from then on I walked differently down those halls. I did worry that I might indulge that feeling however. That’s why I pursued Sandhurst. Everything else fell into place after that.” 

“He was wrong,” Sophie said simply, “You are one of those lads, and so much more.” She squeezed his hand lovingly, as Harry lifted from his seat and grasped the empty cups. “I think I’m going to do a bit of fishing,” he announced, “in case you’d life to soak up a bit of sun topside with me. Of course, don’t feel compelled to do anything except relax my love.” Harry brushed his fingers through her hair, tracing the hair that framed her face down to the chin. Sophie turned her cheek to his fingers, blissful at his touch. “Harry, I…” she began, only to trail off into silence, “these past few days,” she struggled to explain, “I am trying. Please don’t think you’re anything except perfect to me. And I just…” Sophie merely stopped speaking, letting her blank expression conclude her point. Harry silently grasped her hand, slowly kissing the back of it before he turned to leave. “We’ll have a lovely dinner, just you wait. It’ll be a meal fit for my love.”

 

“Harry!” Sophie called gleefully as she rummaged through a storage compartment under the dining bench. She lifted the tape deck, looking excitedly for cassettes beneath it. “Just a moment please,” Harry called, reeling slowly with his back to the hatch. Sophie emerged from the hatch, stepping out with the tape deck in her arms. “Did we bring batteries?” she asked as he continued reeling slowly. Sophie sat on the bench seat, turning the deck over and opening the battery compartment. “We did,” Harry confirmed, “I’ll just go collect them.” He rested his fishing rod within a box of lures and quickly went to retrieve the requested batteries. As he returned, he glanced over Sophie’s discovery while she replaced the batteries and opened the tape case. “Let’s see...David Bowie or Rod Stewart?” Sophie made a delightfully pained face at the selection of tapes. “Harry, when was the last time you were here?” she giggled, looking up. 

Harry retrieved his rod, a wry smile on his face as he set to cast it out again. Sophie finished rewinding the tape, pressing play and setting the tape deck into the small nook beside the seat. Rod Stewart sang in the salty breeze as Sophie stretched out on her stomach and rested her face on a rolled towel. Harry did not wait to be asked before warming the sun cream in his hands and coating her back and legs with it. Once she was protected from burn, Harry returned to his tackle, looking through his selection to choose a lure. “So you chose Sandhurst,” Sophie asked sleepily, turning her face away from him to balance her exposure.  
“Well,” Harry countered modestly, “Sandhurst chose me really.”   
“How did that become Kingsman?” Sophie asked, rubbing her feet against one another as she enjoyed the warmth from the fabric covering the seat. Harry felt the pull of a bite, reeling calmly as he replied, “Much the same way it did for you, I imagine.” 

“Suddenly there were spy films,” Sophie remembered, “spies everywhere it seemed. Did you notice that?” Harry smiled, his back to Sophie as he he reeled triumphantly and landed his fish.   
“Oh, good show!” Sophie cheered, rolling onto her back as he cleaned the fish. Harry thought to offer assistance with her sun cream, but failed to imagine a gentlemanly way to do it while holding a large fish. He sighed as Sophie worked the cream into across her chest and along her cleavage, forlorn for the missed opportunity. “Yes, spy films,” he responded, “saving the world, being a well-dressed gentleman of the world. It was very alluring.” Sophie lay back, draping the towel over her face as she stretched out to continue tanning. Satisfied with his catch, Harry rested it in his cooler before turning to put his equipment away. “Spy of choice?” he asked, closing the tackle box and replacing the reel under the opposite bench. 

“Roger Moore,” Sophie said, somewhat sleepily under the towel. Harry gazed down over her as he lifted the cooler, “Simon Templar or James Bond?” he wondered aloud. Through her dozing, Sophie replied, “Templar. How about you, who was your spy of choice?” Sophie sniffed, resting her arm across her stomach. Harry gently repositioned it beside her to prevent the tan from being altered. “John Steed,” he answered, “and you.” He kissed Sophie’s hand before resting it beside her and turned back to the kitchen. “I think a nice fish pie might be perfect for this,” he called softly as he stepped down the stairs to the kitchen and Sophie dozed in the afternoon sun. Rod Stewart fell silent with no one to flip the tape, and the boat surrendered to the quiet of the ocean calm. Harry worked away in the small kitchen, uncertain if his efforts were hitting the mark, but determined to continue trying until he felt certain she was improving. 

As his pastry baked away in the small oven, Harry opened a bottle of wine and went to collect his slumbering bride. As he brushed her creek tenderly in the twilight, Sophie stirred and stretched as she lifted. “I had the most glorious dream about you,” she gushed, mid-yawn.   
“Oh?” Harry said, sitting beside her with his book of Edmund Spenser sonnets, “do tell.”   
“I’d rather show you,” Sophie whispered, leaning over to tongue Harry’s ear softly. He trembled, closing his book to shift his focus on her. “No, don’t,” Sophie pleaded, “keep reading.” She continued to nibble his ear as Harry tried to return to his book halfheartedly. “Read it aloud,” she coaxed, lifting from him and sliding in between his knees as she sank to the floor of the boat. “Ignore me, Harry,” she instructed, her eyes shining as she looked up into his. She ran both hands up his thighs, stopping shy of his flys, “just pretend I’m not even here and read.”

“How on Earth am I supposed to pretend you aren’t near me?” Harry sighed, his heart pounding. Sophie’s shoulders slumped as she pressed her lips together, befuddled. “It’s a fantasy, Harry,” she explained, “unless you don’t want to.” Harry opened his book, clutching it with both hands as his focus slowly left Sophie’s face. “Oh, I…” he muttered, “I want to, very much.” He held his breath, staring at the page as he felt her hands work nimbly to open his shorts.   
“You’re not reading,” Sophie said, taking a deep breath before she began slowly stroking his exposed and firm shaft. Harry swallowed hard, trying to focus on the book when all he wanted to do was toss it into the ocean and pounce on his sun-kissed paramour. “One day I wrote her name upon the strand,” he recited, his voice warbling slightly, “But came the waves and washed it away: Again I write it with a second hand.”

“But came the tide,” Harry blurted as Sophie took him into her mouth, “and made my pains his prey. Ohhh!” Harry tried to calm himself, wanting to do as she asked, but he was overwhelmed by his longing. “Vain man, said she, that doest in vain assay,” he read, “A mortal thing so to immortalize, For I myself shall like to this decay, And eek - my name be wiped out likewise.”   
Harry could barely keep his eyes open, shaking his head as he struggled to ignore his wife. Sophie was resting in his lap, having taken him into her throat and working passionately to bring him to climax. “To die in dust, but you shall live by fame: My verse, your virtues rare shall eternize,” he read, his volume lifted in excitement as he trembled, “And in the heavens write your glorious name.” Sophie showed no hesitation to her rhythm, and Harry could no longer calm himself, crying out as he came into Sophie’s eager throat and she slowly pulled away.

Sophie rolled back onto her bottom, looking up at the lustful expression splayed across Harry’s face. He looked spent, as though that release took with it worry he carried since the extraction. “Well?” Sophie asked flirtatiously, “How does it end?” Sophie brought both of her feet up, rubbing them against Harry’s thighs as he closed the book and recited, “Where whenas death shall all the world subdue, Our love shall live, and later life renew.” Sophie sighed blissfully, looking up at the emerging stars in the evening sky. “Thank you for this,” she said softly, still looking up. Harry watched as the slight evening breeze tousled her hair, completely enraptured with his wife. “Why,” Harry asked gently, “why did you wish to be ignored, Canary?”   
Sophie sat up, resting her hands in her lap as she considered the question. “Because it feels like work,” she confessed, “I don’t have to think about anything when I’m working.” 

Harry was stunned, unsure of what to say in response to her admission. In the silence, he watched as Sophie’s expression began to cloud, from pleased to uncertain. “I wanted to be with you,” she tried to explain, “I didn’t mean to it to be insulting. I just thought if I could get outside of my head, I could get there.” Sophie shrugged, confused and self-conscious, “And I did, didn’t I?”  
Sophie leaned forward, and Harry offered his hands to help her stand before taking a seat beside him. “It was romantic,” she checked, “you enjoyed it?”   
Harry caressed her face, heartsick to think of her working so hard to be close to him. “I enjoyed it Canary,” he assured her, “I just want us to enjoy it together. I don’t want you feeling like you should be doing things just for me.” Sophie looked as though she might cry, her voice breaking as she squeaked out, “What if I can’t Harry?” 

Harry turned, taking her face in both hands as he kissed her hungrily. “You can, my love,” he assured her between kisses, “I know you can. We will get there together.” Harry wrapped his arms around Sophie, holding her close to him as he kissed her. Sophie rested her hands on his shoulders, her heart pounding as Harry squeezed her tightly and kissed her neck. He felt so good against her warm skin, and as she smelled the salty air she wanted him as she never had before. “Harry…” she whimpered softly, running her fingers through his hair as he found her mouth and brushed his lips across it. Sophie pressed her forehead to his, panting as she trembled at his touch. Harry’s hand trailed down, reaching between Sophie thighs gently as Sophie closed her eyes and tried to breathe past the pounding she began to hear in her ears. She found that though she was gasping, she felt like she couldn’t take in any air, and behind her eyes she saw that terrible room and the small electrical box from her torture. 

Instinctively, she went rigid - pushing Harry away from her. “Harry,” she whispered, her voice full of wistful panic, “stop.” Harry took a step back, looking as Sophie slowly sank to the bench, her muscles trembling and her expression blank. She clutched her knees, letting out a slow breath as she stared out at nothing. “I should check the pie,” Harry offered, “we wouldn’t want it to burn.” He dropped to a knee, hoping to catch Sophie’s gaze but as he touched her she tensed. “Actually,” Sophie whispered, “I’m not feeling very well. Would you be terribly upset if I went straight to bed?” Harry looked at her face, then back at the kitchen. He was certain dinner was burning, yet he didn’t want to leave Sophie’s side. “Of course you can,” he whispered, “Whatever you would like, my love.” He reached out, brushing her fingers as she stood and returned to the bedroom. 

Harry pulled the burned pie from the oven as Sophie took her sleeping pill and rested in bed. He looked at it, unsure what to do with the rage he felt as he turned and left the kitchen, walking up the steps to the transom. There he took several calming breaths before he chucked the pie, tin and all, over the side of the boat and watched it sink away from him. He immediately regretted this - both the polluting and losing the tin, which was antique. Harry stood in the moonlight, clutching his tea towel as he tried to imagine what to do next. He racked his brain, smelling the evening breeze as he tried to work out some way to help his wife. However, he was starting to worry that perhaps she was right: that her recent experience might have lasting effects, and perhaps returning to the field could be months away from her. Harry knew this would devastate her, and he prayed that his suspicions were false. He looked over the side, sighed, and retired.


	9. The Whole World Moving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter would not have come together without help from my dear friend Kennedy.  
> Hope you enjoy it.

“Well? Is that what you want?” Harry shouted.  
He stopped pacing as his booming query echoed in the cabin. 

It had been an awful day. Sophie woke alone in bed, and though her tea had been prepared and left with freshly baked tea biscuits, she ate them alone. Harry seemed to have a million things to do all day - none of them with Sophie. Worst of all, he was warm and wonderful with every dismissal, assuring Sophie that he simply had many chores to tick off and she should relax. How could she relax when the man in her life passed this morning without kissing her? He had never done that before, and his absence vibrated through her with devastating effect. Sophie cleaned everything, repacked everything worn and selected a book to read. She stretched out across the small sofa seating, alternating between gazing at the book and over it to the stairs leading out. This vacuum persisted until dinner, where Harry continued his distance up close, eating their simple dinner in silence. As she looked at him, Sophie decided to break that silence.

“Well?” Harry shouted, “Is that what you want?”  
Sophie watched as he stopped pacing, trembling as his voice echoed in the cabin. She blinked rapidly, hoping to stop the tears which were beginning to form. “Yes,” she said, exasperated. Sophie dropped her shoulders, shrinking away as she sighed deeply. She looked frail, and it broke Harry’s heart. “I want to kill him again,” Harry said, his voice quieter but still stern, “Seeing my wife, bleeding...on the ground...just thinking of that makes me want to kill him all over again.” Harry raised his hands, frustrated as he struggled to keep his feelings at bay. “Then you come back to me, and I look in your magnificent eyes and I see shame,” he admitted, “and I want to kill him all over again. I didn’t want these feelings poisoning our home and I thought a change of scenery would help. I didn't want to bring it into this space.”

“But it is here,” Sophie blurted, “It’s right here with us.” Sophie looked away from him, her frustration shapeless and without direction, “Why wouldn’t you tell me all of that?”  
“Why would I bring it up while you are convalescing?” Harry roared, his face turned to the pantry to spare Sophie being the target of his over-boiled vexation. He gestured at the cabinet before falling speechless before her. Sophie watched him, standing across the cabin from her and what she saw shocked her: Harry Hart was frightened.  
“Because when it comes out,” Sophie reasoned aloud, “I know you aren’t angry at me.” Sophie shrugged as a meek smile found her and she continued, “Because then I know you’re feeling it too, and that feels less alone.” Her gaze met his as her first tears fell and she explained, “I’m scared, Harry, but I couldn’t bare thinking you were really cross with me. I simply couldn’t.” 

 

“Canary, no.” Harry insisted, shaking his head resolutely. He stepped confidently to Sophie; but while she expected to feel his palm caress her cheek and wipe her tears, Harry instead dropped to his knees and pressed his cheek to her stomach. He wrapped his arms tightly around her legs and hugged her as she ran her fingers through his hair. “Goddess…” he said, his voice full of adoration as he held to her. He squeezed her as she leaned against the dining table. “I have tarnished our wedding vows,” Harry muttered, “I have not cherished you. I made you cry.” Sophie looked up as his sincere but bewildering remark, tapping the top of his head to interrupt.  
“Come now,” she announced, clearing her throat, ”if you’re going to talk bollocks, then do it on your feet like a man.” Sophie crossed her arms in determination, “Up you come!”  
Harry stood, and Sophie could see his eyes were moistened with tears as he lifted before her. 

“No woman in the history of Great Britain has even known what it means to be cherished as I do, Mr. Hart,” Sophie said, taking his hands and leaning down to draw his embarrassed focus. “Tarnished? Tosh. I know nothing in this life is certain: people die, loves fades, and empires crumble into dust,” Sophie touched Harry’s chin, “but Harry Hart taking a vow? That is certainty.”  
Sophie watched his smile emerge before she leaned up and touched her lips to his in a gentle loving kiss. Sophie lowered back to her feet, but as their lips parted, she pleaded, “Oh Harry, don’t stop. Please.”  
These were the words Harry longed for, taking her into his arms as he showered her neck in gentle kisses. “Are you certain my love?” Harry asked, “Are you certain you are ready?”

“No,” Sophie admitted with a desperate laugh, “I’m not, but I would like to try. Would that be alright?” Harry said nothing, lifting Sophie by her bottom and wrapping her legs around his waist as he carried her to the bedroom. Sophie held to his neck, giggling softly at his zeal as he stopped at the door and lowered her back to her feet. “Quick trip,” Sophie remarked as Harry left her at the doorway and climbed into bed. She watched as he reclined on his forearms and switched on the light just above Sophie. “Glowing. Necessarily to emanate love or health,” Harry hinted, “seven letters.” Sophie pondered this for a moment, as Harry kept a dedicated observance.  
“Necessarily…” she wondered, “is it ‘Radiant’?”  
“It’s ‘disrobe’ actually,” Harry corrected, his voice dripping with desire for her. 

Sophie blushed, smiling back at him as she soaked up the much needed affection from her beloved. “That’s it, pet,” he coaxed, “blush everywhere and then show me.”  
Sophie unbuttoned the top few buttons slowly, flipping up the collar as she worked to cover the deep crimson of self-awareness.  
“No need for false modesty,” Harry flirted, “if the sun showed that we’d all perish.” A wave of concern struck Harry and he quickly added, “Unless you need to stop. All clear, Canary?”  
Sophie smiled, looking back at him as she opened the romper and let it fall away from her. “All clear,” she replied, “keep talking to me like that. Keep telling me what you want.” Sophie climbed up onto the bed, slowing crawling across to Harry in her lingerie.  
“The only thing I want at this moment is you, just as you are.” Harry said simply, watching her approach.

Sophie lifted onto her knees in an effort to be seductive, only to have her head connect with the corner of Harry’s bookshelf. Knocking her off-balance, she collapsed beside Harry and laughed softly to herself. “My dearest,” Harry asked, “are you alright?”  
“I wish I had known you then,” Sophie replied lightheartedly, rubbing her temple as she lay there.  
“I wish I had been there with you,” Harry admitted, resting his hand at her waist. His expression clouded, pained in an abstract way and Sophie immediately disliked it. “You were with me,” she corrected, staring up at the ceiling as she lay beside Harry, “In your black leather trench coat.”  
“I don’t own a black leather trench coat,” Harry said, amused.  
“You should get one,” Sophie said with certainty, “It’s a flattering look.” Harry leaned in, kissing her softly as he pulled her into his embrace and began stroking her soft skin. 

“What if I’m not able to do this?” Sophie asked aloud as their lips parted.  
“We’ll get there, Canary,” Harry comforted her, “No matter how long it takes, we will get there together.”  
“No,” Sophie laughed softly, “of course you and I will get there. Harry, I mean work. You and I are absolute, of that I am certain, but what if I can no longer do my work as a Kingsman?” Sophie pressed her forehead to Harry’s, biting her lower lip to stop it’s trembling. Harry brushed her cheek with the back of his hand before running it down her body. He stopped, holding his open palm just at her pantyline as he said softly, “You are so much more than this.”  
“A might cry a bit,” Sophie whispered, “but that doesn’t mean I want to stop.”  
“If you say stop,” Harry confirmed, “everything stops. Just say the word, my dearest.”

Sophie nodded, hugging his shoulders while her body trembled. “You were trembling the first time,” Harry whispered in her ear, “Do you remember what I told you?”  
“You said, ‘trust me Sophie’ and so I did.” Sophie answered, her eyes shining, “I love you Harry.” She reached up, kissing him softly as he held her sides and she shifted under him. Sophie held each breath, slowly releasing it as she felt Harry’s large hands skim past her hips before tracing back up the inside of her thigh. Harry peeled away her panties as he kissed her cheek and neck. Sophie kicked back and forth in shallow kicks to work her panties past ankles and away from her as Harry continued to kiss her shoulders and across her chest. Sophie closed her eyes, feeling his weight upon her as he slipped between her legs and pressed into her. Sophie felt Harry’s gentle thrust inside her and she felt… relieved. Her tears formed, but in repose. 

As she sniffled, Harry took her face in his hand and stopped. “Are you alright?” he asked. Sophie smiled, nodding confidently as she responded, “Tell me, does it feel damaged to you?” Harry looked lost for a moment before looking in her eyes, “You feel exactly the same to me,” he  
comforted, “simply wonderful, like the girl of my dreams.” Her relief was overwhelming, and her tears streamed as he kissed her and held her close. For the first time since her capture, she felt complete and safe. She lay there, almost outside herself as she felt him worshiping her body until he stopped thrusting unexpectedly. “What’s wrong?” Sophie asked, snapping into focus.  
“Nothing,” Harry promised, “I think we should take a break. A short one, just for a bit.”  
“Is it me?” Sophie asked, “I have been a little spacey. I’m sorry my love.”  
“Not at all,” Harry said, slipping from her and spooning close to Sophie, “we have forever. There’s no reason to rush.” 

He kissed her earlobe, nuzzling her neck softly. “I’m sorry for being so emotional before,” he said, “raising my voice to you was unnecessary.”  
“Don’t be,” Sophie replied, hugging his arms as they remained wrapped around her, “I’m glad you did.” Sophie sighed, blissful in his arms as they rocked along the waves. She felt more at peace than she had in weeks, and only hoped that feeling would continue for a long time. Her focus was pulled as she sensed Harry’s reluctance. “What’s bothering you, love?” she asked, turning to rest against his chest. “What does it say of me that I still want revenge in your name?” Harry asked aloud, “What sort of man am I?” Sophie sat up, looking deeply into his eyes as she rested a palm on his chest. “A good one,” she answered sincerely, “A very good one.”  
Sophie relaxed against his chest, and Harry smiled as he held her close.

“I misspoke before,” Harry explained, “I was devastated when you went dark. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”  
“I do,” Sophie said, her expression airy, “you would’ve gotten in a helicopter, and rescued me.”  
“You know, you can still continue to be a Kingsman agent without employing the carnal directive,” Harry advised, “You never enjoyed that aspect of the work if I remember rightly.”  
“Harry, Harry, Harry…” Sophie sighed, lacing her fingers between his as she lay against him and looked up at the ceiling, “there is an ocean between ‘don’t like’ and ‘I can’t’ my dearest.” Sophie giggled softly as they cuddled in the dark, stroking Harry’s idly with her feet.  
“It feels like the whole world is moving,” Sophie said, laughter in her voice. Harry rolled to his side, caressing her cheek before he kissed her, “That’s because it is, Canary.” he replied.

Sophie yawned loudly as Harry squeezed her. “Shall I get your pill?” he offered.  
“Not just now, thank you,” she replied, “I’m actually feeling quite tired. I don’t think I’ll be needing it tonight.” She snuggled close, stifling another yawn as she said, “I’ll roll to my side so I don’t belt you. Worry not.” Sophie giggled softly to herself as Harry looked down at her incredulously.  
“How thoughtful of you,” Harry remarked dryly as he listened to her chuckling against his chest. He listened as her breathing evened and she slumbered quietly in the darkness, his mind full of the previous evening’s revelations. As the center of everything was Sophie, now sleeping soundly in his arms without medication for the first time in weeks. Harry felt the distance between them for days, when suddenly it seemed to vanish - and though he had fretted the physical, in that moment it was communication he craved above all else. 

Harry listened to Sophie’s breathing and felt complete. They had work ahead of them, of that he was certain, but they had fallen back into sync and were as devoted to one another as ever. Once Harry felt that, all things seemed possible to him. He felt loved and hopeful, and drifted to sleep happily alongside his wife. There they remained for several hours, until Sophie stirred and slipped from Harry’s embrace. Sitting up, she looked to the door to see the first blush of morning in the air. Elated at the sight, she turned back and jostled Harry with a gentle excitement. “Harry?” she whispered, “I’m going to watch the sun rise!” Sophie quickly grabbed her cardigan before climbing out onto the transom to catch the sunrise as Harry stirred, barely conscious. He felt for her before dropping his head back onto the pillow for a last indulgent moment. Sophie sat, gazing out at the horizon as Harry emerged, unshaven and bleary-eyed in the growing dawn. 

Her smile enormous, Sophie patted the space beside her, and as Harry sat down she wrapped her legs around his waist. She layered her thick cardigan around them both, hugging Harry’s back to her bare skin as they shared her sweater. “Oh…” Sophie gasped, watching the sunlight ripple off the water, “I’ve never seen the sun rise before. Isn’t that strange?” She rested her head against Harry’s shoulder as the day consumed the darkness overhead, and they enjoyed the sight together in silence. “Happy birthday Canary,” Harry said sweetly, “thank you for keeping your promise.” He looked back at her, sweeping her blown locks and tucking them behind her ear before leaning in to slowly kiss her. “Happy anniversary my love,” she cooed, “thank you for this. For all of this.” She squeezed him close to her, shivering slightly against the sea breeze.  
“Your appointment with Olivia,” Harry said flatly, “is going to help you. Don’t hold anything back.”

“What?” Sophie asked, lifting from his shoulder. Harry studied her face seriously, kissing her hand before he looked back out at the horizon. “You’re getting better every day, and I’m very proud of you,” he continued, “So when you meet with Olivia, I think you should be completely open about everything - no matter what.” Harry glanced back, his expression knowing and kind.  
“We made a promise,” Sophie whispered, “to take this to our graves.”  
“And I am telling you to break that promise, if needs must.” he replied, “Your health is everything. It is the only thing that matters.” Harry rubbed her hand with his thumb, pursing his lips as he stared out at nothing in particular. Sophie hugged tightly to Harry, considering what he said. Telling Olivia about their marriage would commit it to the Kingsman network, which would make it known by all high level officials. Harry was placing their privacy in her hands, for her welfare.

“I’m going to get better,” she replied, determined, “and I’m going to do it without sacrificing our life together. This is nothing compared to what I’ve been through. I didn’t tell them and I won’t be telling anyone else, this love and life are **ours**.” Sophie took Harry’s face, turning it to her, “No one else’s. Now tell me you believe me.”  
Harry smiled, giving a firm nod as he acknowledged, “I believe you. I know you will.”  
“Good,” Sophie replied, stretching and taking her sweater back from him. She wrapped in around herself before running her fingers across his coarse facial hair. “It’s too early…” Sophie sulked, rising to her feet and passing him. Nude below the waist, her stretching exposed her to Harry as she walked past and to the stairs. Harry watched her reach the stairs and stop to sigh.  
“Perhaps I could make you some breakfast?” Harry offered pleasantly.

Sophie screwed up her face, shaking her head as she twisted back to face him. “Not really,” she admitted, “I’d much rather you make me come, if you’re offering.” Sophie blushed, covering her face mischievously before she ducked down the stairs. Harry stared at the entrance, a peaceful smile upon his face. His plan had worked: Sophie seemed healthier and happier than before. His relief was all-consuming and he wiped the tears from his eyes into his face as he frowned at his unkempt visage. “Harry?” Sophie called from the cabin, her voice soft and perfect. Harry abandoned the seat as he heard her call. “On my way,” he called merrily, “I just want to have a quick shave, and then you shall have my undivided attention.”  
He left the stairs and embraced her on his way to shave. “My word,” he flirted, “you’re just going to keep growing lovelier year after year, aren’t you? Off to bed then, I’m just behind you.”

 

Sophie lay back, panting and glistening with sweat. Harry simply sat admiring her, leaning against the wall with a curious smile on his face. “Don’t just sit there,” Sophie chided, “come back and molest me.” He smirked, crawling over and kissing up her stomach and between her breasts. “Actually,” he countered as he reached her face, “I think you should rest here and while you are recharging I shall get your birthday cake baked and ready to enjoy.”  
“A birthday cake?” Sophie replied, “Baking on a boat: you spoil me, sir.”  
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Harry assured, “It’s your birthday, and on your birthday we bake.”  
“We?” Sophie said mirthfully, “I suppose my nap is integral to this tradition?”  
“Absolutely it is,” Harry joked, leaning down to kiss her passionately, “positively essential.”  
Sophie wrapped her arms around him, holding tightly as she moaned softly, peacefully.

Harry then withdrew, washing up and working in the kitchen as Sophie slept peacefully. He worked away happily, trying to be as silent as possible as he mixed away while sneaking occasional glances in her direction. The day has been a perfect one, and he aimed to make their last night at sea perfect as well. Popping the cake into the oven, Harry set to work planning dinner and cleaning up a bit before he pulled the baked cake out to cool. He then collected his rod, hoping to catch something nice to make for their anniversary dinner. When Sophie woke, her cake was iced, her dinner was baking, and Harry was just pouring a lovely cup of tea. “Happy anniversary dearest,” he greeted when she entered the room, still a bit fuzzy, “please sit.” Sophie sat as he slid the box into her hands, anxious to see her reaction. “Oh Harry,” Sophie huffed, “I didn’t bring your gift onto the boat. I did get you one, but it isn’t here.” 

“Then I have something to look forward to,” Harry responded, tapping her box with his finger. Sophie opened the box, gasping at the Cartier bracelet as she lifted it from the box as examined the delicate etched fruits in the gold. “Fourth anniversary,” Harry remarked, “fruit. So I thought something useful.” Sophie admired it, turning it over in her hands with a radiant smile before leaning over to kiss Harry. “I love it. Thank you,” she gushed, glowing.  
“We will remain on course tonight, and should return midday tomorrow,” Harry advised, “We should be back in London by early evening. I imagine a nice weekend at home will set you right, and by Monday you’ll be ready to return to work.”  
Sophie nodded, returning the bracelet to the box and sipping her tea. “Perhaps we could spend Sunday at my flat,” she suggested, “so I’ll be completely prepared for Monday.”

“That’s a brilliant idea,” Harry replied simply.  
Dinner was gorgeous, and followed by cake before Sophie washed up the dishes and returned everything in preparation for their return the following day. Once all the chores were completed, Sophie looked out for Harry, finding him sitting out under the stars. She slowly ascended the stairs, bewitched by her handsome man as she stared at him. “It’s beautiful,” Harry said aloud, looking up at the heavens. Sophie approached and took a seat, nodding as she took it in. Harry produced a small case, beginning to assemble his instrument as she gazed out at the stars. “Because it is your birthday…” Harry offered, placing the reed into his mouth as he closed the case. Sophie squealed in delight - she adored his clarinet but seldom got to hear it as he was quite self-conscious about it. It was a rare treat indeed, and as he played “Stranger on the Shore” Sophie settled in contentment. “I love that song,” she cooed, “and you, my dearest.”


	10. Closure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait! Harry Anderson's death really threw me one :'(
> 
> Also, I'll be getting back to the tumblr very soon - check it out at: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sophiehollanderandharryhart
> 
> Until the next one!

Sophie arched her back, moaning softly as she grasped fistfuls of the duvet. It was still dark outside her window, and Sophie woke under a shower of passionate kisses which began behind her ear and slowly traveled down her body. She surrendered to the sensation immediately, snuggling in the warmth of the blanket as Harry parted her knees and kissed along the inside of her thigh. Sophie closed her eyes, guiding Harry to her aching sex by gripping his hair in her fingertips and pulling his attention from her thigh. As Harry traced his tongue slowly between her lips, Sophie lifted her hips and released his scalp. He was in Heaven, wrapping his arms around her thighs and stroking along her stomach and legs while he gently massaged along her clit in large circles with his tongue. He adored feeling her melt at his tireless devotion to her and her pleasure, and feeling her surrender to him was sacrosanct and without parallel. 

This morning proved an exceptionally promising one, where her soft giggles and purrs of delight met her sleepy ease as he played against her sweet, moist flesh. Sophie closed her eyes, moaning softly to herself as Harry teased her close before tenderly easing his intensity and keep her just on the edge. She remained in that glorious haze where her body had not yet abandoned sleep while she was aware of every sensation her husband lavished upon her. She felt his smooth skin as he kissed her thighs and along her waist and smiled - he must have gotten up to shave before waking her. Sophie writhed as he reached overhead to caress her breasts and run his hands down her sides. She grasped one of his hands, holding it tightly as the first waves of orgasm washed over her. She slowly bucked against him, shaking as he pulled from between her legs and continued stroking her with his fingers as he kissed up her frame.

“My dearest one,” Sophie moaned, lifting her chest to meet him as he kissed along her chest and neck. She lifted her knee, tracing her shin along Harry’s crotch as her hands sought his cheeks and she kissed him. Harry gently guided her back onto the bed, peeling her hands away slowly and placing them on her chest. “We must cut this short I’m afraid,” Harry whispered to his wife’s sulking response. Sophie shook her head, refuting his statement and running her fingers through his hair. “It’s not Monday yet,” she pleaded, “we have time Harry. I want you inside me.” Harry rubbed his nose against hers, kissing her in response before lifting slowly from her embrace. “Make love to me,” she murmured, “please. I need you so.” Harry was drunk with euphoria at her affections, wanting to pull the duvet over them both and pass the day in her loving embrace. However, this was the date of her return to HQ and she needed that as well. 

“If you go in today and see Olivia,” Harry offered, “when you return to the flat a triumph as you always are, I will have dinner prepared and a nice massage awaiting you. Then my gorgeous bride, you shall have every inch of my adoration. I promise.” Harry shifted to Sophie’s side, tucking the warm blanket around her as he spooned her, “You have an hour yet before you must wake up. Sleep now, Canary.” Sophie moaned softly as he kissed her shoulder and gently slipped away from her. He crept into her hall and closed the door before stretching and walking to the kitchen to begin breakfast. Switching on the small radio in the kitchen, Harry quietly found the news and listened as he assessed what he brought for breakfast. He loved his wife - but her cupboards were always in a dire state. Luckily, he knew this, and managed to bring a hamper full of supplies for her welcome return to Kingsman. A good breakfast would set her right. 

Harry switched on the kettle, rubbing his face before he opened the pantry to collect her china. Harry was in a fantastic mood. Sophie seemed back to her usual self and their entire weekend had consisted of the leisurely passing of time and the frequent indulgence of hedonism. Once Sophie found herself able to engage without anxiety, she was embracing Harry all over the house. Harry smiled, holding the plates as the kettle switched off and stepping over to the table to set it for breakfast. He knew they weren’t exactly home yet, but he no longer worried that she might be unwell. His wife was merely of a journey, and he had complete faith that she would succeed as beautifully as she did in all things. All she needed was calm, patience, and support, and Harry intended to ensure she had all those things. He placed each setting, then turned back to the kitchen to squeeze the juice for breakfast after he made a nice cup of tea for himself.

 

“Canary?” Harry called softly, “It’s time to wake I’m afraid.” He gently shook her as he stood beside the bed. Sophie stirred, throwing the duvet away from her tightly snugged body and sitting up along the side of the bed. She rested her head on Harry’s shoulder as he sat beside her and sighed. “Shower first, or breakfast?” Harry asked softly. Sophie sniffed, lifting her head from his shoulder. “Shower,” she replied, reluctantly lifting to her feet and lumbering to the bathroom. Harry watched her with a smirk, walking to the wardrobe as he heard the shower and opening it to select a suit for her. Sophie was always stunning while at work, but preferred her suits on days where she was needed to project certainty that she might be slightly unsure of. Harry reached for her navy suit when he caught sight of a small plastic terrarium on the top shelf of her wardrobe and stopped to examine it as the shower ceased behind him.

“How could I have forgotten?” Sophie called as she emerged from the bathroom. She shed her towel, draping it at the vanity before meeting Harry at the wardrobe. “Happy anniversary, my dearest one,” she commented, “as you can see, I couldn’t exactly move them yet. We can move them to your place this week. They only just arrived.”  
Harry smiled, looking at the pupae in the small case under the warmer as Sophie slipped past him to reach for the lingerie drawer. As she matched up a set of undergarments, Harry kissed her temple softly and advised, “Breakfast is ready as soon as you are.” With that, he left her to finish dressing and returned to the kitchen to put the final touches to the table. Sophie found her small dining table piled with fruit and pastry when she joined Harry, who was pouring coffee from his press. “Nothing like a proper breakfast to ensure a successful day,” he said, “please sit.”

Sophie took her seat, selecting a pot of jam and a croissant while Harry refreshed the press. “Are you ready for your appointment?” he asked gently, returning to his seat. Sophie chewed thoughtfully, keeping her focus fixed on him. “I am,” she said calmly, “although I still think it’s a bit much. I feel more myself with each passing day. I don’t know what good it will do.” Sophie punctuated her statement with a mild shrug, reaching for her glass of juice.  
“Arthur himself is the founder of that program,” Harry remarked, “quite progressive of him if you ask me. Of course, after his own experiences with torture…’  
“Wait,” Sophie interrupted, “Arthur’s experience?”  
Harry had figured Sophie was unaware, and meant for her to be completely prepared for any interaction she might face on this first day. He smiled as he watched the realization come to her.

“Yes,” Harry explained, “in 1973. After his experience, he championed the specialized trauma decompression program. If any of us can speak to its benefit, it would be Arthur.” Sophie remained silent with this new information, but as Harry noted her calm as she carefully spread the jam over her pastry. “Well, I suppose the best thing to do would be the follow Olivia’s direction,” she replied, “the sooner that’s done, the sooner I can get back to proper work.” Sophie sipped down her coffee quickly, noticing the time, “I do so look forward to things getting back to normal, but Harry I’ve got to go - I’m going to be late.”  
She stood, drinking the rest of her coffee before setting the cup down and rushing back to the bedroom. “Please don’t get up,” she called, “stay and enjoy your breakfast. I’ll just be off.” Sophie returned from the bedroom to discover Harry, standing by the door with her coat in hand.

“I’m not going to sit there as you leave,” Harry chided with an amused tone. Sophie stopped in the hallway, absorbing the entirety of the moment’s exchange with a deep serenity. She remembered when that tone was worth living for, and she did not pass it unnoticed. Sophie stepped to the door, slipped into her coat and accepted her handbag from Harry before leaning in to engage him in a long farewell kiss. “I’ll be home as soon as I can,” she said, turning to the door. Harry held it open, allowing her to step through it. “I will be here,” he replied confidently.  
“Harry,” Sophie said, turning back to him momentarily, “I just wanted to say…” She stopped, tucking her thumb into her palm as she fell silent. “I love you. Very much.”  
Harry smiled brightly, his eyes lingering as he gazed into her eyes. “You don’t want to be late,” he replied, “Be safe, Guinevere.”  
“Always.” Sophie replied, “See you tonight.”

 

Sophie entered the shop, rounding the staircase and walking briskly into the locker room to drop her handbag. She passed Lancelot as she walked to her locker, chirping mirthfully in salutation. “Good morning, Lancelot,” she called, dropping her case and coat into the locker before returning to his side. “I’m going to see Olivia today,” she whispered to him, “do you mind if I say I confide in you? Just in case she asks.”  
Lancelot smiled warmly, arranging his locker to pass the time as he listened. “Of course you may,” he answered, “I’d be honored to be your office confidant.”  
Sophie winked at him, in a gesture he mirrored back playfully. “I am very glad to see you back in form,” Lancelot said softly, “you look completely restored to your old self.”  
“Fancy a drink after work?” Sophie asked, elated at his affirming nod, “Wonderful, see you then.”

Gareth entered the locker room as Sophie squeezed Lancelot’s arm and left the room. “What was all that?” Gareth asked, mocking the little display. Lancelot paused, mildly annoyed with Gareth’s tedious and petty inquiries. “Oh nothing,” Lancelot replied, “I’m just going to pop ‘round to Guinevere's after work for a shag.”  
Gareth stopped cold at his locker, turning back to Lancelot, “I beg your pardon?” he asked. Lancelot closed his locker, amused as he turned back to him. “It’s what you want to hear, isn’t it?” he mocked, “It couldn’t possibly be none of your business.” Lancelot laughed to himself, shaking his head at his fellow Kingsman as he walked to the door. “Stop being such a big girl’s blouse, she’s fine company,” Lancelot said as he left, “and if you want it to be your business, you should ask her yourself sometime. Good day, Gareth.”

 

Sophie stepped into dressing room two, closing the door and placing her palm against the mirror to begin lowering to the subfloors. She thought she might be anxious about sitting down with a psychologist to discuss her work, yet she found herself surprisingly calm as the floor descended. All she thought of was the warmth of her bed, the semi-darkness of twilight, and the feeling of her husband nestled between her legs as she trembled in that warm darkness. She felt certain she could still smell him on her fingertips, and thinking of him still within her flat awaiting her return filled her with contentment. There would be no Russian interference today - let America sort out its own disasters. Sophie felt the warmth rise in her cheeks, trying to calm her blush as the floor slowed to a stop. Only a few hours until she would be back in her home, in his arms, where nothing could possibly be wrong. Harry was right - everything there was good.

Sophie scanned the plate beside the office of Dr. Margaret Olivia and waited for the door release. She did not expect the doctor to open the door personally to invite her in, and she was a bit speechless as she stepped through into the office.  
“Please take a seat,” the doctor offered, “any place comfortable.”  
Sophie examined the sparsely decorated, beige space, concluding the lack of feature must be by design before selecting of the seats and taking it.  
“Hmm,” Olivia responded, “that one? How interesting.”  
Sophie looked quizzically at her until she raised a hand and smiled. “Just kidding,” she assured.  
“You aren’t though,” Sophie challenged, “you’re here to suss out if I’m fit for work, aren’t you?”  
“I am here to ensure that you are completely healthy following your recent trauma,” Olivia said.

“I could simply tell you,” Sophie offered, “maybe speed things along?”  
Dr. Olivia scribbled something onto her pad, returning her focus as Sophie’s nervous chuckle faded to silence. She smiled, wondering how to broach the discussion without Sophie shutting her down. Guinevere had never reported to this department before. Her records showed no over-dependence on medical aid or disciplinary actions, just a seamless flow from missions into decompression and back. On paper, Guinevere was the perfect agent. “Do you ever find yourself more at home in dangerous situations than in domestic ones?” Olivia asked.  
Sophie looked at her, confused. “Of course not,” she replied flippantly, “I adore the time I spend in bed doing absolutely nothing. A long bath, a bit of Titchmarsh…”  
“It must be preferable to risking your life for months at a time,” Olivia reasoned.

“No,” Sophie answered flatly. She bit her bottom lip, not enjoying the discussion of her work. “I’d never give up this work voluntarily. I’m good at it.”  
Olivia looked at the personnel file on her computer screen and nodded. “That’s very true, but there are these questions that I feel must be asked before I can sign off on the request. For instance, why haven’t you taken a vacation in the seventeen years you’ve been here?”  
Sophie rested her face in her palm, hoping every question was this easy. “After months away in exotic locations, being home is a vacation. Meditating on myself during that time helps me leave work in its proper place.”  
“Do you feel this meditation is necessary?” Olivia asked, “Do you not have a anyone you confide in?”

“I don’t think about it at all,” Sophie dismissed, “growing up as I did instilled in me an appreciation for solitude. You should know that. Just as the domestic life didn't prove safe for William or Agatha: yet I am certain you know that too. I'm not neurotic, simply aware that my work is meaningful. That helps at moments when it doesn't feel safe. There is no satisfaction like a calling that fulfills you. I’m not at odds with any part of my past, recent or ancient, and I really am ready to return."  
Olivia simply listened, considering every element of Sophie’s delivery in deep study as the agent expounded. “You sound very clear in your rationale, do you have a regular confidant?”  
“Yes,” Sophie answered.  
“Really,” Olivia responded, “May I ask about this confidant?”  
“No,” Sophie responded. 

The conversation fell to silence, remaining there until Sophie huffed in capitulation. “A fellow agent and I are friends,” she explained, “but as rumours have been known to circulate I’d rather our platonic relationship not become the subject of yet another one.”  
“I see,” Olivia acknowledged.  
“We’ve known each other many years,” she continued, “worked together and he has been a terrific shoulder through trying times. A great friend.”  
“Guinevere,” Olivia cautioned, “I must admit: I am not satisfied that the condition has been met in this exchange and though I am glad you have a support system, I do feel more time would benefit you.”  
“How much more time?” Sophie asked, her anxiety evident.  
“I think six weeks or so,” Olivia answered, “unless we discover something needing focus.”

This reaction left Sophie cold. She had not intended to made a commitment to further interaction with this woman, and it was beginning to occur to her than she might not have any choice.  
“Is… is that really necessary?” Sophie asked, her disappointment clear, “I would really prefer returning to my work in the field.” Sophie rubbed her palms across each other before dropping them into her lap with a faint clap, “I’m at my best when I am working. I always have been.”  
“You seem to find great pride in your work,” Olivia remarked.  
“I should hope most people do,” Sophie replied, “all things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small…”  
Sophie sat silently, licking her lips as her gaze drifted down to Olivia’s desk. She took slow calming breaths, hoping this appointment could end quickly so she could return to her work. 

“It seems to me,” Olivia offered, breaking the silence, “that committing yourself to improvement is of some importance to you. Let’s try this: I’m going to place you for additional sessions, twice a week for six weeks. However, I’ll recommend to Arthur that you extend the decompression during that time and update any training here at HQ. Go to the firing range, take a class and resharpen your skill set for your return to mission work. Think of it as bootcamp.”  
“What purpose would that serve?” Sophie asked curiously.  
“It would ensure that you return to the field completely prepared, which is my job.” Olivia answered, “If the work fulfills you, then I think it would prove therapeutic to practice. You might consider giving another fencing class with the time, and be a benefit to other agents.”  
Sophie considered this with a meek smile. “Alright, I’ll do that,” she agreed, “Thank you.”

 

Sophie walked into the gym and shed her suit coat as she walked to the training arena. “Good afternoon Merlin,” she called as she passed through and stopped in front of the terminal. Merlin gave a glance her way as she pulled the menu of training programs. “Extra training I see,” Merlin said, “nothing better to clear the mind.” Sophie merely hummed in the affirmative as she tapped along, making her selection from the menu. The lights flickered in the office as a computerized voice broadcasted, “Operation Melee selected. Please enter the arena. The program will commence in fifteen minutes.”  
Merlin heard the name and looked up as Sophie threw her coat over a chair and lightly stretched. “I’m going to be in London a few weeks brushing up,” Sophie explained nonchalantly, “put me down for another fencing class, would you? We can sort of a schedule in a few days.” 

With that, Sophie continued to the arena alone. Merlin tapped his glasses, calling the dining room. “Sir, we have a Code Pink,” he reported, “yes sir, repeater. Guinevere in twelve minutes.”  
In the dining room, Arthur thanked Merlin and ended the call. “It would appear that Guinevere is going against the company record,” he informed the table, “in Operation Melee.”  
No one at the table waited for a dismissal, leaving Arthur as they all made their way to the observation deck of the training arena. Arthur passed Harry, who was dropping paperwork with the tailor’s office as the crowd passed. “What’s all this?” he asked Arthur as Arthur stopped.  
“Guinevere has just loaded Operation Melee,” Arthur said simply.  
“Right now?” Harry asked, and when Arthur nodded he turned and also began walking briskly to the observation deck. He walked in, lingering in the back to not provide a distraction. 

“Don’t be daft,” one agent commented, “no agent has ever gotten a perfect score. It can’t be done.” Lancelot shrugged before eyeing Harry and responding, “Don’t be so sure - Guinevere is a Hell of a shot.”  
“Who holds the record now?” Gareth asked, looking around the group.  
“I do,” Harry replied, “with a seventy-seventh percentile.”  
“Are you worried at all?” Bedivere asked, causing whispered conversation among the group.  
“Not at all,” Harry answered, “the test is designed to be exceptionally difficult. If Guinevere bests me, then she will be absolutely deserving of the new record.”  
“She doesn’t stand a chance,” Arthur said, alerting everyone to his presence. “Almost no one tests above a seventy-five. That is the purpose of the test. It’s impressive enough to take it.”

With that sentiment, the computer announced, “The test will begin in one minute.” Harry lingered in the back beside Arthur, not wanting his presence to distract Sophie. “Don’t worry lad,” Arthur whispered, “she’ll never beat a seventy-seven.”  
“I’m not worried,” Harry replied, “in fact, I admire it. The absolute last thing I would ever wish to do again is face an entire room filled with adversaries.”  
Arthur took his quip, falling silent as Harry watched his wife and prayed for her to triumph in the face of all this skepticism. He looked down from the corner, watching curiously as Sophie dropped to her knee and rested a single steadying hand on the mat. As the final seconds ticked away, Merlin said, “One hundred targets to sweep and real ammo. Good luck Guinevere.”  
“Hear, hear,” Lancelot concurred, looking back to Harry as Sophie’s war cry rang up from below.

Sophie stared at the floor, shouting out her strained rage as she thought of Dimitri, that idiot in Florida, the parilla, and every other aggression that she faced in this job. The tone sounded to begin the exercise, she palmed both of the pistols in her small of back holster and pulled them as she lunged forward and began firing on the hologram figures that began emerging from every direction. She was lightning fast, firing at each figure as they charged toward her and she backed to a secure position. As her weapons emptied, the men above her watched.  
“She’s taken a shot,” Gareth lamented, “damn. Backing to the wall was a mistake.”  
“Not yet,” Bedivere interjected, his eyes never leaving the arena.  
Sophie drew the assailants toward her, switching to the shotgun cartridge and taking out several holograms with each blast. 

As the remaining hoard worked around the obstruction caused by the blast, Sophie retrieved her lighter and activated the grenade before throwing it through the holograms and into the center of the arena. She then threw her emptied weapons through the holograms, shattering another few of them as she retrieved her second set of pistols from her shoulder holster.  
“Wait,” Bedivere exclaimed, “can she do that? That’s an active grenade!”  
“Nothing in the rules that states she can’t” Merlin admitted, “The arena will shield us from the blast.”  
“But not her,” Arthur continued, leaning it to watch closely.  
Sophie cleared the obstruction, reclaiming the center of the simulation as the grenade detonated.  
“Concussion damage to agent,” the computer announced, “injury minimal.”

The blast knock Sophie clear of the group, shattering the inner circle of holograms and leaving her face down on the mat. Sophie scrambled, rolling to her knees as she backed to the next secure position and swept the area for targets. Her nose was bleeding slightly from the impact, and she used the position to assess the situation as she rose to her feet. She took a deep breath, leaning around the barricade to shoot at the lingering figures as they continued their approach. With the final ten in her sight, Sophie stepped from the barricade and opened fire in an all-out standoff as she took out the final holograms.  
“Is that the last of them?” Lancelot asked, and Harry covered his mouth as a final agent appeared behind Sophie while she focused ahead. As the final hologram fell before her, a tagging squib struck her in the leg and took her down.

The computer announced, “Gunshot damage to agent. Injury moderate.”  
The men watched as Sophie rolled onto her side, tucked into the fetal position. “Stop the exercise,” Arthur began when Harry interrupted him. “Wait,” Harry called, gesturing to her hands. Everyone looked as she triggered her shoe and slipped it from her foot. As she rolled over, she launched the shoe into the final hologram and watched him shatter. She then relaxed on her back and calmly caught her breath as she looked up at the crown of agents who were observing her exercise. The lights flickered and the computer voice returned, “Simulation complete, Agent Guinevere. Completion - score recorded, eighty-one percent successful.”  
From above her, the men cheered but Sophie merely lay there feeling the pain in her leg and the pride in her chest. When she caught sight of Harry above her, she simply smiled. 

“Out-fucking-standing,” Merlin called from the door, walking over and offering his hand to help Sophie to her feet. Sophie stood, wincing slightly at the squib on her leg as she gained her balance. “Thank you Merlin,” she said meekly as the other men filed into the room to congratulate her new record. Sophie wasn’t expecting the attention, shaking their hands briefly while Merlin checked her leg. “You’re going to have a terrific bruise,” he explained, “no more.”  
“Don’t you ever go on vacation?” Sophie quipped as Harry shook her hand. He gave her a subtle double squeeze as he released it, “Well, I leave for a week and some young agent upstages me. Bloody well done.”  
“A new record,” Gareth announced merrily, “we should celebrate.”  
As Sophie gripped Arthur’s hand, she smiled. “Arthur, have a drink with me.” 

Arthur followed her through the gymnasium and upstairs to the dining room. There, Sophie poured two drams, sliding the second across the table and into Arthur’s grasp. He raised it as she looked around the room at the portraits which lined the walls. “These paintings are magnificent,” she remarked, “and when I first arrived here, I stood mesmerized by their commitment and their sacrifice. I didn’t feel it then.” Sophie took the first sip of her drink, her gaze remaining lifted up to the portraits, “Now I know that so much of this work isn’t measuring up so much as it is being unwilling to give in. When we refuse to bend, we hold all of our traditions and principles above the flood.” Sophie looked at Arthur, her green eyes deep and sincere, “Now I feel it. I might one day peer down from that vantage. One day, I might prove an inspiration to someone new. Wouldn’t that be something?”

Sophie smiled for a moment, taking another sip of her whisky. Arthur turned his focus to the paintings, allowing silence to consume the space.  
“How are things with Olivia?” Arthur asked softly.  
“Things are well,” Sophie answered positively, “I might stick around for a few weeks and sharpen up here and there.”  
Her eyes cut to Arthur, who gave an understanding nod but said nothing as her cheeks blushed.  
“You gave me the opportunity to earn all of this,” Sophie acknowledged, “thank you Arthur.”  
“You have earned this,” Arthur assured her, “I knew you would become one of the chaps in time.”  
“I never did that,” Sophie quipped, “but you know I never once tried.” She finished her whisky, set the glass at the bar and touched Arthur’s shoulder as she left the room for her office. 

Entering her office in the dark, Sophie was met by Harry’s eager lips as he caressed her face and cradled her neck. “I sure hope that’s Galahad,” she joked as they parted.  
“Eighty-one percent,” he gushed, “you are magnificent.”  
“It’s all your fault, actually,” she corrected, turning to switch on the light, “giving me love and unconditional hope. You are a terrible influence.”  
Harry simply smiled as Sophie pulled her handkerchief and wiped her lipstick from his face. “What are you doing here?” she wondered, “You’re supposed to be at my place.”  
“I was dropping off paperwork, when word spread through the building that you were going Melee,” Harry explained, “and if you think I’m missing that…”  
“Fair enough,” Sophie dismissed, “I will expect to find you when I return home later.”

Harry sighed happily but said nothing. He and Sophie shared an adoring glance for a few moments before Sophie considered her afternoon.  
“I’m supposed to have a quick drink with Lancelot, but I’m going to try to bunk off early for that.” Sophie informed him, “I won’t be long.”  
Harry nodded, brushing her cheek as he turned back to the door, “I’ll leave you to it.”  
“When you go,” she requested, “please mist your pupae. It’s a dry day - they might need the moisture.”  
“What are they?” he inquired curiously. Sophie smiled wide as she shrugged and admitted, “I don’t know. I suppose that like so many things in life, we will have to wait and see what will come.”


End file.
